GIFT  OF 


"C  T^f-o 

; 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE 


A  TALE  OF  TRUTH. 


BY  MRS.  SUSANNA  ROWSON 


She  was  her  parents'  only  joy : 
They  had  but  one  -  one  darling  child 


PHILADELPHIA: 

W.    A.    LEAHY    &    CO. 

NO.  138   NORTH  SECOND   STREET. 


PREFACE. 


FOR  the  perusal  of  the   young  and   thoughtless 
of  the  fair  sex,  this  tale  of  truth  is  designed,  and  1 


were  related  to  me  some  little  time  since  by  an  old 
lady  who  had  personally  known  Charlotte,  though 
she  concealed  the  real  names  of  the  characters,  and 
likewise  the  place  where  the  unfortunate  scenes 
were  acted  :  yet  as  it  was  impossible  to  offer  a  re 
lation  to  the  public  in  such  an  imperfect  state,  I 
have  thrown  over  the  whole  a  slight  veil  of  fiction, 
and  substiiuted  names  and  places  according  to  my 
own  fancy.  The  principal  characters  in  this  little 
tale  are  no-w  consigned  to  the  silent  tomb :  it  can 
therefore  hurt  the  feelings  of  no  one  ;  and  may,  I 
flatter  myself,  be  of  service  to  some  who  are  so  un 
fortunate  as  to  have  neither  friends  to  advise,  or  un 
derstanding  to  direct  them,  through  the  various  and 
unexpected  evils  that  attend  a  young  and  unpro 
tected  woman  in  her  first  entrance  into  life. 

While  thejear  of  compassion  still  trembled  in 
my  eye  for  the  fate  of  the  unhappy  Charlotte,  I 


VI  PREFACE. 

may  have  children  of  my  own,  said  I,  to  whom  this 
recital  may  be  of  use,  and  if  to  your  own  children, 
said  Benevolence,  why  not  to  the  many  daughters 
of  Misfortune  who,  deprived  of  natural  friends,  or 
spoilt  by  a  mistaken  education,  are  thrown  on  an 
unfeeling  world  without  the  least  power  to  defend 
themselves  from  the  snares  not  only  of  the  other 
sex,  but  from  the  more  dangerous  arts  of  the  pro 
fligate  of  their  own. 

Sensible  as  I  am  that  a  novel  writer,  at  a  time 
when  such  a  variety  of  works  are  ushered  into  the 
world  under  that  name,  stands  but  a  poor  chance 
for  fame  in  the  annals  of  literature,  but  conscious 
that  I  wrote  with  a  mind  anxious  for  the  happiness 
of  that  sex  whose  morals  and  conduct  have  so 
powerful  an  influence  on  mankind  in  general ;  and 
convinced  that  I  have  not  wrote  a  line  that  conveys 
a  wrong  idea  to  the  head  or  a  corrupt  wish  to  the 
heart,  I  shall  rest  satisfied  in  the  purity  of  iny  own 
intentions  and  if  I  merit  not  applause,  I  feel  that  I 
dread  not  censure. 

If  the  following  tale  should  save  one  hapless  fair 
one  from  the  errors  which  ruined  poor  Charlotte, 
or  rescue  from  impending  misery  the  heart  of  one 
anxious  parent,  I  shall  feel  a  much  higher  gratifica 
tion  in  reflecting  on  this  trifling  performance,  than 
could  possibly  result  from  the  applause  \vhich 
might  attend  the  most  elegant  finished  piece  of 
literature  whose  tendency  might  deprave  the  heart 
or  mislead  the  understanding. 

S.  R. 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A   BOARDING   SCHOOL. 

"  ARE  you  for  a  walk,"  said  Montraville  to  his  com 
pan  ion  as  they  arose  from  table;  "are  you  for  a  walkl 
or  shall  we  order  the  chaise  and  proceed  to  Portsmouth  T* 
Belcour  preferred  the  former  ;  and  they  sauntered  out 
to  view  the  town,  and  to  make  remarks  on  the  inhabi 
tants,  as  they  returned  from  church. 
^/Montraville  was  a  lieutenant  in  the  army  :  Belcour 
Cwas_his  brother  officer  :  they  had  been  to  take  leave  ol 
then*  friends  previous  to  their  departure  for  America, 
and  were  now  returning  to  Portsmouth,  where  the 
troops  waited  orders  for  embarkation.  They  had  stop 
ped  at  Chichester  to  dine ;  and  knowing-  they  had  suffi 
cient  time  to  reach  the  place  of  destination  before  dark, 
and  yet  allow  them  a  walk,  had  resolved,  it  being 
Sunday  afternoon,  to  take  a  survey  of  the  Chichester 
ladies  as  they  returned  from  their  devotions. 

They  had  gratified  their  curiosity,  and  were  prepar 
ing  to  return  to  the  inn  without  honoring  any  of  the 
fielles  with  particular  notice,  when  Madame  Du  Pont, 
,  it  the  head  of  her  school,  descended  from  the  church. 
;Such  an  assemblage  of  youth  and  innocence  naturally 
attracted  the  young  soldiers;  they  stopped  ;  and,  as  the 
little  cavalcade  passed,  almost  involuntary  pulled  off 
their  hats.  A  tall,  elegant  girl  looked  at  Montraville, 


O  t          (CH±BLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

and  blushed ;  "he  insfantly  'recollected  th'e"  'features  of 
Charlotte  Temple,  whom  he  had  once  seen  and  danced 
with  at  a  ball  at  Portsmouth.  At  that  time  he  thought 
on  her  only  as  a  very  lovely  child,  she  being  then  only 
thirteen  ;  but  the  improvement  two  years  had  made  in 
her  person,  and  the  blush  of  recollection  which  suffused 
her  cheeks  as  she  passed,  awakened  in  his  bosom  new 
and  pleasing  ideas.  Vanity  led  him  to  think,  that  plea 
sure  at  again  beholding  him,  might  have  occasioned 
the  emotion  he  had  witnessed ;  and  the  same  vanity 
led  him  to  wish  to  see  her  again. 

"  She  is  the  sweetest  girl  in  the  world,"  said  he,  as 
he  entered  the  inn.  Belcour  stared.  "  Did  you  not 
notice  her'.1"  continued  Montraville :  "she  had  on  a 
blue  bonnet,  and  with  a  pair  of  lovely  eyes  of  the  same 
color,  has  contrived  to  make  me  feel  devilish  odd  about 
the  heart." 

"  Poh,"  said  Belcour,  "  a  musket  ball  from  our  friends 
the  Americans,  may  in  less  than  two  months  make  you 
feel  worse." 

"  I  never  think  of  the  future,"  replied  Montraville, 
"  but  am  determined  to  make  the  most  of  the  present, 
and  would  willingly  compound  with  any  kind  Familiar, 
who  would  inform  me  who  the  girl  is,  and  how  I  might 
be  likely  to  obtain  an  interview." 

But  no  kind  Familiar  at  that  time  appearing,  and  the 
chaise,  which  they  had  ordered,  driving  up  to  the  door, 
Montraville  arid  his  companion  were  obliged  to  take 
leave  of  Chichester  and  its  fair  inhabitant,  and  proceed 
on  their  journey. 

But  Charlotte  had  made  too  great  an  impression  on 
his  mind  to  be  easily  eradicated :  having  therefore 
spent  three  whole  days  in  thinking  on  her,  and  endea 
voring  to  form  some  plan  for  seeing  her,  he  determined 
to  set  off  for  Chichester,  and  trust  to  chance  either  to 
favor  or  frustrate  his  designs.  Arriving  at  the  verge 
of  the  town,  he  dismounted,  and  sending  the  servant 
forward  with  the  horses,  proceeded  toward  the  place, 
where,  in  the  midst  of  an  extensive  pleasure  ground, 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  9 

stood  the  mansion  which  contained  the  lovely  Charlotte 
Temple.  Montraville  leaned  on  a  broken  gate,  and 
looked  earnestly  at  the  house.  The  wall,  which  sur 
rounded  it,  was  high ;  and  perhaps  the  Argusses,  who 
guarded  the  Hesperian  fruit  within,  were  more  watch 
ful  than  those  famed  of  old. 

"  'Tis  a  romantic  attempt,"  said  he,  "  and  should  1 
even  succeed  in  seeing  and  conversing  with  her,  it  can  be 
productive  of  no  good :  I  must  of  necessity  leave  Eng 
land  in  a  few  days,  and  probably  may  never  return ;  why 
then  should  I  endeavor  to  engage  the  affections  of  this 
lovely  girl,  only  to  leave  her  a  prey  to  a  thousand  in 
quietudes,  of  which  at  present  sne  has  no  idea  1  I  will 
return  to  Portsmouth,  and  think  no  more  about  her." 

The  evening  was  now  closed;  a  serene  stillness 
reigned  ;  and  the  chaste  queen  of  night,  with  her  silver 
crescent,  faintly  illuminated  the  hemisphere.  The  mind 
of  Montraville  was  hushed  into  composure  by  the  seren 
ity  of  the  surrounding  objects.  "  I  will  think  on  her  no 
more,"  said  he,  and  turned  with  an  intention  to  leave 
i\he  place  ;  but  as  he  turned,  he  saw  the  gate  which  led 
to  the  pleasure  grounds  open,  and  two  women  come  out, 
who  walked  arm  in  arm  across  the  fields. 

"  I  will  at  least  see  who  these  are,"  said  he.  He  over 
took  them,  and  giving  them  the  compliments  of  the 
evening,  begged  leave  to  see  them  into  the  more  fre 
quented  parts  of  the  town;  but  how  was  he  delighted, 
when,  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  discovered,  under  the 
concealment  of  a  large  bonnet,  the  face  of  Charlotte 
Temple. 

He  soon  found  means  to  ingratiate  himself  with  her 
companion,  who  was  a  French  teacher  at  the  school, 
and,  at  parting,  slipped  a  letter  he  had  purposely  writ 
ten,  into  Charlotte's  hand,  and  five  guineas  into  that  of 
Mademoiselle,  who  promised  she  would  endeavor  to 
bring  her  young  charge  into  the  field  again  the  next 
evening. 


10  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

CHAPTER  II. 

DOMESTIC    CONCERNS. 

MR.  TEMPLE  was  the  youngest  son  of  a  nobleman, 
whose  fortune  was  by  no  means  adequate  to  the  an 
tiquity,  grandeur,  and,  I  may  add,  pride  of  the  family 
He  saw  his  elder  brother  made  completely  wretched  by 
marrying  a  disagreeable  woman,  whose  fortune  helped 
to  prop  the  sinking  dignity  of  the  house  ;  and  he  beheld 
his  sisters  legally  prostituted  to  old,  decrepit  men, 
whose  titles  gave  them  consequence  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  and  whose  affluence  rendered  them  splendidly 
miserable.  "  I  will  not  sacrifice  internal  happiness  for 
outward  show,"  said  he  :  "I  will  seek  Content ;  and  if 
I  find  her  in  a  cottage,  will  embrace  he  with  as  much 
cordiality  as  I  should  if  seated  on  a  throne." 

Mr.  Temple  possessed  a  small  estate  of  about  five 
hundred  pounds  a  year ;  and  with  that  he  resolved  to 
preserve  independence,  to  marry  where  the  feelings  of 
his  heart  should  direct  him,  and  to  confine  his  expenses 
within  the  limits  of  his  income.  He  had  a  heart  open 
to  every  generous  feeling  of  humanity,  and  a  hand 
ready  to  dispense  to  those  who  wanted,  part  of  the  bless 
ings  he  enjoyed  himself. 

As  he  was  universally  known  to  be  the  friend  of  the 
unfortunate,  his  advice  and  bounty  were  frequently  so 
licited  ;  nor  was  it  seldom  that  he  sought  out  indigent 
merit,  and  raised  it  from  obscurity,  confining  his  own 
expenses  within  a  very  narrow  compass. 

"  You  are  a  very  benevolent  fellow,"  said  a  young 
officer  to  him  one  day ;  "  and  I  have  a  great  mind  tc 
give  you  a  subject  to  exercise  the  goodness  of  your 
heart  upon." 

"You  cannot  oblige  me  more,"  said  Temple,  "than 
to  point  out  any  way  by  which  I  can  be  of  service  to 
my  fellow  creatures." 

"  Come  along  then,"  said  the  young  man,  "  we  will 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  11 

g<o  and  visit  a  man  who  is  not  in  so  good  a  lodging  as 
he  deserves ;  and,  were  it  not  that  he  has  an  angel 
with  him,  who  comforts  and  supports  him,  he  must  long 
since  have  sunk  under  his  misfortunes."  The  young 
man's  heart  was  too  full  to  proceed  ;  and  Temple,  un 
willing  to  irritate  his  feelings  by  making  further  in 
quiries,  followed  him  in  silence,  till  they  arrived  at  the 
Fleet  prison. 

The  officer  enquired  for  captain  Eldridge.  A  person 
led  them  up  several  pair  of  dirty  stairs,  and  pointing  to 
a  door  which  led  to  a  miserable  small  apartment,  said 
that  was  the  captain's  room,  and  retired. 

The  officer,  whose  name  was  Blakeney,  tapped  at  the 
door,  and  was  bid  to  enter  by  a  voice  melodiously  soft. 
He  opened  the  door,  and  discovered  to  Temple  a  scene 
which  riveted  him  to  the  spot  with  astonishment. 

The  apartment,  though  small,  and  bearing  strong 
marks  of  poverty,  was  neat  in  the  extreme.  In  an  arm 
chair,  his  head  reclined  upon  his  hand,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  a  book,  which  lay  open  before  him,  sat  an  aged  man 
in  a  lieutenant's  uniform,  which,  though  thread  bare, 
should  sooner  call  a  blush  of  shame  into  the  face  of 
those  who  could  neglect  real  merit,  than  cause  the  hectic 
of  confusion  to  glow  on  the  cheeks  of  him  who  wore  it. 

Beside  him  sat  a  lovely  creature,  busied  in  painting1 
a  fan  mount.  She  was  fair  as  the  lily  ;  but  sorrow  had 
nipped  the  rose  in  her  cheek,  before  it  was  half  blown. 
Her  eyes  were  blue ;  and  her  hair,  which  was  light 
brown,  was  slightly  confined  under  a  plain  muslin  cap, 
tied  round  with  a  black  ribbon  ;  a  white  linen  gown 
and  a  plain  lawn  handkerchief  composed  the  remainder 
of  her  dress ;  and  in  this  simple  attire  she  was  more 
irresistibly  charming  to  such  a  heart  as  Temple's,  than 
she  would  have  been,  if  adorned  with  all  the  splendor 
of  a  courtly  belle. 

When  they  entered,  the  old  man  arose  from  his  seat, 
and  shaking  Blakeney  by  the  hand  with  great  cordiali 
ty,  offered  Temple  his  chair ;  and  there  being  but  three 
in  the  room,  seated  himself  on  the  side  of  his  little  bed, 
with  evident  composure. 


12  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

"  This  is  a  strange  place,"  said  he  to  Temple,  "  to  re 
ceive  visitors  of  distinction  in ;  but  we  must  fit  our 
feelings  to  our  station.  While  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
own  the  cause  which  brought  me  here,  why  should  I 
blush  at  my  situation  ?  Our  misfortunes  are  not  our 
faults;  and  were  it  not  for  that  poor  girl...." 

Here  the  philosopher  was  lost  in  the  father.  He  rose 
hastily  from  his  seat,  walked  towards  the  window,  and 
wiped  off  a  tear  which  he  was  afraid  would  tarnish  the 
cheek  of  a  sailor. 

Temple  cast  his  eye  on  Miss  Eldridge ;  a  pellucid 
drop  had  stolen  from  her  eyes,  and  fallen  upon  a  rose 
she  was  painting.  It  blotted  and  discolored  the  flower. 
"  'Tis  emblematic,"  said  he  mentally :  "  the  rose  of 
youth  and  health  soon  fades  when  watered  by  the  tear 
of  affliction." 

"  My  friend  Blakeney,"  said  he,  addressing  the  old 
man,  "  told  me  I  could  be  of  service  to  you  :  be  so  kind, 
then,  dear  sir,  as  to  point  out  some  way  in  which  I  can 
relieve  the  anxiety  of  your  heart  and  increase  the 
pleasures  of  my  own." 

"  My  good  young  man,"  said  Eldridge,  "  you  know 
not  what  you  offer.  While  deprived  of  my  liberty,  I 
cannot  be  free  from  anxiety  on  my  own  account ;  but 
that  is  a  trilling  concern ;  my  anxious  thoughts  extend 
to  one  more  dear  a  thousand  times  than  life  :  I  am  a 
poor,  weak,  old  man,  and  must  expect  in  a  few  years 
to  sink  into  silence  and  oblivion  ;  but  when  I  am  gone, 
who  will  protect  that  fair  bud  of  innocence  from  the 
blasts  of  adversity,  or  from  the  cruel  hand  of  insult  and 
dishonor  1" 

"  Oh,  my  father !"  cried  Miss  Eldridge,  tenderly  tak 
ing  his  hand,  "  be  not  anxious  on  that  account ;  for 
daily  are  my  prayers  offered  to  heaven  that  our  live 
may  terminate  at  the  same  instant,  and  one  grave  re 
ceive  us  both ;  for  why  should  I  live  when  deprived  of 
my  only  friend  1" 

Temple  was  moved  even  to  tears.  "  You  will  both 
live  many  years,"  said  he,  "  and  I  hope  see  much  hap 
piness.  Cheerly,  my  friend,  cheerly:  these  passing 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  13 

clouds  of  adversity  will  serve  only  to  make  the  sunshine 
of  prosperity  more  pleasing.  But  we  are  losing  time ; 
you  might  ere  this  have  told  me  who  were  your  credi 
tors,  what  were  their  demands,  and  other  particulars 
necessary  to  your  liberation." 

"  My  story  is  short,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge ;  "  but  there 
are  some  particulars  which  will  wring  my  heart  barely 
to  remember  ;  yet  to  one  whose  offers  of  friendship  ap 
pear  so  open  and  disinterested,  I  will  relate  every  cir 
cumstance  that  led  to  my  present  painful  situation.  But 
my  child,"  continued  he,  addressing  his  daughter,  "let 
me  prevail  on  you  to  take  this  opportunity,  while  my 
friends  are  with  me,  to  enjoy  the  benefit  of  air  and  ex 
ercise.  Go,  my  love ;  leave  me  now,  to-morrow,  at 
your  usual  hour  I  will  expect  you." 

Miss  Eldridge  impressed  on  his  cheek  the  kiss  of 
filial  affection,  and  obeyed. 


CHAPTER  III. 

UNEXPECTED    MISFORTUNES. 

"  MY  life,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  "  till  within  these  few 
years,  was  marked  by  no  particular  circumstances  de 
serving  notice.  I  early  embraced  the  life j>f  a  sailor, 
and  have  served  my  king  with  unremitted  ardor  for 
many  years.  At  the  age  of  twenty-five,  I  married  an 
amiable  woman ;  one  son  and  the  girl  who  just  now 
left  us,,  were  the  fruits  of  our  union.  My  boy  had 
genius  and  spirit.  I  straightened  my  little  income  to 
give  him  a  liberal  education ;  but  the  rapid  progress  he 
made  in  his  studies  amply  compensated  for  the  incon 
venience.  At  the  academy  where  he  received  his  edu 
cation,  he  commenced  an  acquaintance  with  a  Mr. 
Lewis,  a  young  man  of  affluent  fortune  :  as  they  grew 

i 


14  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

up,  their  intimacy  ripened  into  friendship,  and  they 
became  almost  inseparable  companions. 

"  George  chose  the  profession  of  a  soldier.  I  had 
neither  friends  nor  money  to  procure  him  a  commission, 
and  had  wished  him  to  embrace  a  nautical  life ;  but 
this  was  repugnant  to  his  wishes,  and  I  ceased  to  urge 
him  on  the  subject. 

"  The  friendship  subsisting  between  Lewis  and  my 
son  was  of  such  a  nature  as  to  give  him  free  access  to 
our  family ;  and  so  spacious  was  his  manner,  that  we 
hesitated  not  to  state  to  him  all  our  little  difficulties  in 
regard  to  George's  future  views.  He  listened  to  us 
with  attention,  and  offered  to  advance  any  sum  neces 
sary  for  his  first  setting  out. 

"  I  embraced  the  offer,  and  gave  him  my  note  for  the 
payment  of  it;  but  he  would  riot  suffer  me  to  mention 
any  stipulated  time,  as  he  said  I  might  do  it  whenever 
most  convenient  to  myself.  About  this  time  my  dear 
Lucy  returned  from  school,  and  I  soon  began  to  ima 
gine  Lewis  looked  at  her  with  eyes  of  affection.  I  gave 
my  child  a  caution  to  beware  of  him,  and  to  look  on  her 
mother  as  her  friend.  She  was  unaffectedly  artless ; 
and  when,  as  I  suspected,  Lewis  made  professions  of 
love,  she  confided  in  her  parents,  and  assured  us  her 
heart  was  perfectly  unbiassed  in  his  favor,  and  she 
would  cheerfully  submit  to  our  direction. 

"  I  took  an  early  opportunity  of  questioning  him  con 
cerning  his  intentions  towards  my  child  :  he  gave  an 
equivocal  and  suspicious  answer — some  angry  words 
followed — and  I  forbade  him  the  house. 

"The  next  day  he  sent  and  demanded  payment  of 
his  money.  It  was  not  in  my  power  to  comply  with 
the  demand.  I  requested  three  days  to  endeavor  to 
raise  it,  determining,  in  that  time  to  mortgage  my  half- 
pay  and  live  on  a  small  annuity  which  my  wife  possess 
ed,  rather  than  be  under  an  obligation  to  so  worthless 
a  man  :  but  this  short  time  was  not  allowed  rne,  for  that 
evening,  as  I  was  sitting  down  to  supper,  unsuspicious 
of  danger,  an  officer  entered  and  tore  me  from  the  em 
braces  of  my  family. 


CHARJXVTTE    TEMPLE.  15 

"  My  wife  had  been  for  some  time  in  a  declining-  state 
of  health:  ruin  at  once  so  unexpected  and  inevitable, 
was  a  stroke  she  was  not  prepared  to  bear ;  and  I  saw 
her. faint  in  the  arms  of  our  servant,  as  I  left  my  own 
habitation  for  the  comfortless  walls  of  a  prison.  My 
poor  J^ucy,  distracted  with  her  i'ears  for  us"  both,  sunk 
on  the  floor,  and  endeavored  to  detain  me  by  her  feeble  *. 
efforts;  but  in  vain;  they  forced  open  her  arms;  she 
shrieked,  and  fell  prostrate. — But  pardon  me.  The  hor 
rors  of  that  night  unman  me.  I  cannot  proceed." 

He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  walked  several  times 
across  the  room  :  at  length,  attaining  more  composure, 
he  cried — "  What  a  mere  infant  I  am  !  Why,  Sir,  I 
never  felt  thus  in  the  day  of  battle." 

"No,"  said  Temple;  "but  the  truly  brave  soul  is    ; 
tremblingly  alive  to  the  feelings  of  humanity." 

"  True,"  replied  the  old  man,  (something  like  satis 
faction  darting  across  his  features)  "and  painful  as 
these  feelings  are,  I  would  not  exchange  them  for  that 
torpor  which  the  stoic  mistakes  for  philosophy.  How 
many  exquisite  delights  should  I  have  passed  by  unno 
ticed,  but  for  these  keen  sensations,  this  quick  sense  of 
happiness  or  misery  1  Then  let  us,  my  friend,  take  the 
cup  of  life  as  it  is  presented  to  us,  tempered  by  the  hand 
of  a  wise  Providence  ;  be  thankful  for  the  good,  be  pa 
tient  under  the  evil,  and  presume  not  to  enquire  why 
the  latter  predominates." 

"This  is  true  philosophy,"  said  Temple. 

"'Tis  the  only  way  to  reconcile  ourselves  to  the 
cross  events  of  life,"  replied  he.  "  But  I  forgot  myself. 
I  will  not  longer  intrude  on  your  patience,  but  proceed 
in  my  melancholy  tale. 

"The  very  evening  that  I  was  taken  to  prison  my 
son  arrived  from  Ireland,  where  he  had  been  sometime 
with  his  regiment.  From  the  distracted  expressions  of 
Vis  mother  and  sister,  he  learned  by  whom  I  had  been 
arrested  ;  and,  late  as  it  was,  flew  on  the  wings  of 
wounded  affection,  to  the  house  of  his  false  friend,  and 
earnestly  enquired  the  cause  of  this  cruel  conduct. 
With  all  the  calmness  of  a  cool,  deliberate  villain,  he 


16  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

\avowed  his  passion  for  Lucy ;  declared  her  situation  in 
jlife  would  not  permit  him  to  marry  her;  but  offered  to 
release  me  immediately,  and  make  any  settlement  upon 
her,  if  George  would  persuade  her  to  live,  as  he  impi 
ously  termed  it,  a  life  of  honor. 

"  Fired  at  the  insult  offered  to  a  man  and  a  soldier, 
my  boy  struck  the  villain,  and  a  challenge  ensued.  He 
then  went  to  a  coffee-house  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
wrote  a  long,  affectionate  letter  to  me,  blaming  himself 
severely  for  having  introduced  Lewis  into  the  family, 
or  permitted  him  to  confer  an  obligation,  which  had 
brought  inevitable  ruin  on  us  all.  He  begged  me,  what 
ever  might  be  the  result  of  the  ensuing  morning,  not  to 
suffer  regret  or  unavailing  sorrow  for  his  fate,  to  in 
crease  the  anguish  of  my  heart,  which,  he  greatly  fear 
ed,  was  already  insupportable. 

"  This  letter  was  delivered  to  me  early  in  the  morn 
ing.  It  would  be  in  vain  to  attempt  to  describe  my 
feelings  on  the  perusal  of  it ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  a 
merciful  Providence  interposed,  and  I  was  for  three 
weeks  insensible  to  miseries  almost  beyond  the  strength 
of  human  nature  to  support. 

"  A  fever  and  strong  delirium  seized  me,  and  my  life 
was  despaired  of.  At  length,  nature,  overpowered  with 
fatigue,  gave  way  to  the  salutary  power  of  rest,  and  a 
quiet  slumber  of  some  hours  restored  to  me  reason, 
though  the  extreme  weakness  of  my  frame  prevented 
my  feeling  my  distress  so  acutely  as  I  otherwise  should. 

"  The  first  object  that  struck  me  on  awaking,  was 
Lucy  sitting  by  my  bed-side ;  her  pale  countenance 
and  sable  dress  prevented  my  enquiries  for  poor  George : 
for  the  letter  I  had  received  from  him,  was  the  first 
thing  that  occurred  to  my  memory.  By  degrees  the 
rest  returned :  I  recollected  being  arrested,  but  could 
no  ways  account  for  being  in  this  apartment,  whither 
they  had  conveyed  me  during  rny  illness. 

"  I  was  so  weak  as  to  be  almost  unable  to  speak : 
pressed  Lucy's  hand,  and  looked  earnestly  round  the 
apartment  in  search  of  another  dear  object. 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ]"  said  I  faintly. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  17 

"  The  poor  girl  could  not  answer ;  she  shook  her  head 
in  expressive  silence  ;  and  throwing  herself  on  the  bed, 
folded  her  arms  about  me,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  What !  both  gone,"  said  I. 

""  Both,"  she  replied,  endeavoring  to  restrain  her  emo 
tions  :  "  but  they  are  happy,  no  doubt." 

Here  Mr.  Eldridge  paused :  the  recollection  of  the 
scene  was  too  painful  to  permit  him  to  proceed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CHANGE   OF   FORTUNE. 

"  IT  was  some  days,"  continued  Mr.  Eldridge,  recov 
ering  himself,  "  before  I  could  venture  to  enquire  the 
particulars  of  what  had  happened  during  my  illness  :  at 
length  I  assumed  courage  to  ask  my  dear  girl,  how  long 
her  mother  and  brother  had  been  dead :  she  told  me, 
that  the  morning  after  my  arrest,  George  came  home 
early  to  enquire  after  his  mother's  health,  staid  with 
them  but  a  few  minutes,  seemed  greatly  agitated  at 
parting,  but  gave  them  strict  charge  to  keep  up  their 
spirits,  and  hope  every  thing  would  turn  out  for  the 
best.  In  about  two  hours  after,  as  they  were  sitting  at 
breakfast,  and  endeavoring  to  strike  out  some  plan  to 
attain  my  liberty,  they  heard  a  loud  rap  at  the  door, 
which  Lucy  running  to  open,  she  met  the  bleeding 
body  of  her  brother,  borne  in  by  two  men  who  had  lifted 
him  from  a  litter,  on  which  they  had  brought  him  from 
the  place  where  he  fought.  Her  poor  mother,  weaken 
ed  by  illness  and  the  struggles  of  the  preceding  night, 
was  not  able  to  support  this  shock:  gasping  for  breath, 
her  looks  wild  and  haggard,  she  reached  the  apartment 
where  they  had  carried  he^  dying  son.  She  knelt  by 
the  bedside;  and  taking  his  cold  hand,  'my  poor  boy,! 
2* 


18  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

•  said  she, '  I  will  not  be  parted  from  thee:  husband  !  son  ! 
both  at  once  lost. ..Father  of  mercies,  spare  me  !' — She 
fell  into  a  strong  convulsion,  and  expired  in  about  two 
hours.  In  the  mean  time  a  surgeon  had  dressed 
George's  wounds ;  but  they  were  in  such  a  situation  as 
to  bar  the  smallest  hopes  of  recovery.  He  never  was 
sensible  from  the  time  he  was  brought  home,  and  died 
that  evening  in  the  arms  of  his  sister. 

"  Late  as  it  was  when  this  event  took  place,  my  af 
fectionate  Lucy  insisted  on  coming  to  me.  '  What  must 
he  feel,'  said  he,  'at  our  apparent  neglect,  and  how 
shall  I  inform  him  of  the  afflictions  with  which  it  has 
pleased  heaven  to  visit  us  I9 

"  She  left  the  care  of  the  dear  departed  ones  to  some 
neighbors,  who  had  kindly  come  in  to  comfort  and  assist 
her;  and  on  entering  the  house  where  I  was  confined, 
found  me  in  the  situation  I  have  mentioned. 

"  How  she  supported  herself  in  these  trying  moments, 
I  know  not:  heaven,  no  doubt,  was  with  her  ;  and  her 
anxiety  to  preserve  the  life  of  one  parent  in  some  mea 
sure  abated  her  affliction  for  the  loss  of  the  other. 

"  My  circumstances  were  greatly  embarrassed,  my 
acquaintances  few,  and  those  few  utterly  unable  to  assist 
me.  When  my  wife  and  son  were  committed  to  the 
kindred  earth,  my  creditors  seized  my  house  and  furni 
ture,  which  not  being  sufficient  to  discharge  ail  their 
demands,  detainers  were  lodged  against  me.  No  friend 
stepped  forward  to  my  relief;  from  the  grave  of  her 
mother,  my  beloved  Lucy  followed  an  almost  dying 
father  to  this  melancholy  place. 

"  Here  we  have  been  nearly  a  year  and  a  half.  My 
half-pay  I  have  given  up  to  satisfy  my  creditors,  and 
my  child  supports  me  by  her  industry :  sometimes  by 
fine  needle-work,  sometimes  by  painting.  She  leaves 
me  every  night,  and  goes  to  a  lodging  near  the  bridge  : 
but  returns  in  the  morning,  to  cheer  me  with  her  smiles, 
and  bless  me  by  her  duteous  affection.  A  lady  once 
offered  her  an  asylum  in  hej  family ;  but  she  would  not 
leave  me.  '  We  are  all  the  world  to  each  other,'  said 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLK.  18 

ehe.  *I  thank  God,  I  have  health  and  spirits  to  im 
prove  the  talents  with  which  nature  has  endowed  me ; 
and  I  trust,  if  I  employ  them  in  the  support  of  a  beloved 
parent,  I  shall  not  be  thought  an  unprofitable  servant. 
While  he  lives,  I  pray  for  strength  to  pursue  my  em 
ployment  ;  and  when  it  pleases  heaven  to  take  one  of 
us,  may  it  give  the  survivor  fortitude  to  bear  the  sepa 
ration  with  due  resignation ;  till  then  I  will  neve, 
leave  him.' 

"  But  where  is  this  inhuman  persecutor  T'  saivl 
Temple. 

"  He  has  been  abroad  ever  since,"  replied  the  old 
man,  "  but  he  has  left  orders  with  his  lawyer  never  to 
give  up  the  note  till  the  utmost  farthing  is  paid." 

"  And  how  much  is  the  amount  of  your  debts  in  all  ?" 
said  Temple. 

"  Five  hundred  pounds,"   he  replied. 

Temple  started ;  it  was  more  than  he  expected.  "  But 
something  must  be  done,"  said  he  :  "  that  sweet  maid 
must  not  wear  out  her  life  in  prison.  I  will  see  you 
again  to-morrow,  my  friend,"  said  he,  shaking  Eld- 
ridge's  hand :  "  keep  up  your  spirits  :  light  and  shade 
are  not  more  happily  blended  than  are  the  pleasures 
and  pains  of  life;  and  the  horrors  of  the  one  serve  only 
to  increase  the  splendor  of  the  other." 

"  You  never  lost  a  wife  and  son,"  said  Eldridge. 

"  No,"  replied  he,  "  but  I  can  feel  for  those  that  have," 
Eldridge  pressed  his  hand,  as  they  went  towards  the 
door,  and  they  parted  in  silence. 

When  they  got  without  the  walls  of  the  prison,  Tem 
ple  thanked  his  friend  Blakeney  for  introducing  him  to 
so  worthy  a  character ;  and  telling  him  he  had  a  par 
ticular  engagement  in  the  city,  wished  him  a  good 
evening. 

"  And  what  is  to  be  done  for  this  distressed  man  T' 
said  Temple,  as  he  walked  up  Ludgate  Hill.  "  Would 
to  heaven  I  had  a  fortune  that  would  enable  me  in- 
gtantly  to  discharge  his  debt ;  what  exquisite  transport, 
to  see  the  expressive  eyes  of  Lucy  beaming  at  once  with 


20  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

pleasure  for  her  father's  deliverance,  and  gratitude  for 
her  deliverer  :  but  is  not  my  fortune  affluence,"  con 
tinued  he,  "  nay,  superfluous  wealth,  when  compared 
to  the  extreme  indigence  of  Eldridge  1    and  what  have 
1  done  to  deserve  ease  and  plenty,  while  a  brave  oifi- 
\cer  starves  in  prison !     Three  hundred  a  year  is  surely 
•sufficient  for  all  my   wants  and  wishes;  at  any  rate, 
Eldridge  must  be  relieved." 

When  the  heart  has  will,  the  hands  can  soon  find 
means  to  execute  a  good  action. 

>le  was  a  young  man,  his  feelings  warm  and  im- 
ijus ;  unacquainted  with  the  world,  his  heart  had 
not  been  rendered  callous  by  being  convinced  of  its 
fraud  and  hypocrisy.  He  pitied  their  sufferings,  over 
looked  their  faults,  thought  every  bosom  as  generous  as 
his  own,  and  would  cheerfully  have  divided  his  last 
guinea  with  an  unfortunate  fellow  creature. 

No  wonder  then  that  such  a  man,  (without  waiting 
a  moment  for  the  interference  of  Madam  Prudence) 
should  resolve  to  raise  money  sufficient  for  the  relief 
of  Eldridge,  by  mortgaging  part  of  his  fortune.  • 

We  will  not  enquire  too  minutely  into  the  motive 
which  might  actuate  him  in  this  instance  :  suffice  it  to 
say,  he  immediately  put  the  plan  in  execution;  and  in 
three  days  from  the  time  he  first  saw  the  unfortunate 
lieutenant,  he  had  the  superlative  felicity  of  seeing 
him  at  liberty,  and  receiving  an  ample  reward  in  the 
tearful  eye  and  half  articulated  thanks  of  the  grateful 
Lucy. 

"  And  pray,  young  man,"  said  his  father  to  him  one 
morning,  "  what  are  your  designs  in  visiting  thus  con 
stantly  that  old  man  and  his  daughter]" 

Temple  was  at  a  loss  for  a  reply :  he  had  never  ask 
ed  himself  the  question:  he  hesitated,  and  his  father, 
continued — 

"  It  was  not  till  within  these  few  days  that  I  heard 
in  what  manner  your  acquaintance  first  commenced, 
and  cannot  suppose  any  thing  but  attachment  to  the 
daughter  could  carry  you  to  such  imprudent  lengths  for 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  <£1 

the  father ;  it  certainly  must  be  her  art  that  drew  you 
in  to  mortgage  part  of  your  fortune." 

"  Art,  sir  !"  cried  Temple  eagerly — "  Lucy  Eldridge 
is  as  free  from  art  as  she  is  from  every  other  error: 
,  she  is " 

"  Everything  that  is  amiable  and  lovely,"  said  his 
father,  interrupting  him,  ironically  ;  "  no  doubt,  in  your 
opinion,  she  is  a  pattern  of  excellence  for  all  her  sex  to 
follow  ;  but  come,  sir,  pray  tell  me,  what  are  your  de 
signs  toward  this  paragon ;  I  hope  you  do  not  intend  to 
complete  your  folly  by  marrying  her." 

"  Were  my  fortune  such  as  would  support  her  accord 
ing  to  her  merit,  I  don't  know  a  woman  more  formed 
to  ensure  happiness  in  the  married  state." 

"  Then  prithee,  my  dear  lad,"  said  his  father,  "  since 
your  rank  and  fortune  are  so  much  beneath  what  your 
Princess  might  expect,  be  so  kind  as  to  turn  your  eyes 
to  Miss  Weatherby  ;  who,  having  only  an  estate  of 
three  thousand  a  year,  is  more  upon  a  level  with  you, 
and  whose  father  yesterday  solicited  the  mighty  honor 
of  your  alliance.  I  shall  leave  you  to  consider  on  this 
offer;  and  pray  remember,  that  your  union  with  Miss 
Weatherby  will  put  it  in  your  power  to  be  more  liber 
ally  the  friend  of  Lucy  Eldridge." 

The  old  gentleman  walked  in  a  stately  manner  out 
of  the  room;  and  Temple  stood  almost  petrified  with 
astonishment,  contempt  and  rage. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SUCH    THINGS    ARE. 

Miss  WEATHERBY  was  the  only  child  of  a  wealthy 
man,  almost  idolized  by  her  parents,  flattered  by  h^y 
dependants,  and  never  contradicted  even  by  those  w**t 


2*2  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

called  themselves  her  friends :  I  cannot  give  a  better 
description  than  by  the  following  lines : 

The  lovely  maid  whose  form  and  face 
Nature  has  deck'd  with  every  grace, 
•/'IB  ut  in  whose  breast  no  virtues  glow, 
Whose  heart  ne'er  felt  another's  wo, 
Whose  hand  ne'er  smooth'd  the  bed  of  pain, 
Or  eas'd  the  captive's  galling  chain; 
But  like  the  tulip  caught  the  eye,  -'-  ^ 

Born  just  to  be  admir'd  and  die  ; 
When  gone  no  one  regrets  its  loss, 
Or  scarce  remembers  that  it  was. 

Such  was  Miss  Weatherby  ;  her  form  lovely  as  nature 
could  make  it,  but  her  mind  uncultivated,  her  heart 
unfeeling,  her  passions  impetuous^  and  her  brain  almost 
turned  with  flattery,  dissipation  and  pleasure  ;  and  such 
was  the  girl,  whom  a  partial  grandfather  left  indepen 
dent  mistress  of  the  fortune  before  mentioned. 

She  had  seen  Temple  frequently  ;  and  fancying  she 
could  never  be  happy  without  him,  nor  once  imagining 
he  could  refuse  a  girl  of  her  beauty  and  fortune,  she 
prevailed  on  her  fond  father  to  offer  the  alliance  to  the 
old  Earl  of  D ,  Mr.  Temple's  father. 

The  Earl  had  received  the  offer  courteously :  he 
thought  it  a  great  match  for  Henry ;  arid  was  too  fash 
ionable  a  man  to  suppose  a  wife  could  be  any  impedi 
ment  to  the  friendship  he  professed  for  Eldridge  and 
his  daughter. 

Unfortunately  for  Temple,  he  thought  quite  other 
wise:  the  conversation  he  had  just  had  with  his  father, 
discovered  to  him  the  situation  of  his  heart ;  and  he 
found  that  the  most  affluent  fortune  would  bring  no  in 
crease  of  happiness  unless  Lucy  Eldridge  shared  it  with 
him;  and  the  integrity  of  his  own  heart,  made  him 
shudder  at  the  idea  his  father  had  started,  of  marrying 
a  woman  for  no  other  reason  than  because  the  affluence 
of  her  fortune  would  enable  him  to  injure  her  by  main 
taining  in  splendor  the  v/omen  to  whom  his  heart  was 
devoted :  he  therefore  resolved  to  refuse  Miss  Weath- 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  23 

erby,  and,  be  the  event  what  it  might,  offer  his  heart 
and  hand  to  Lucy  Eld  ridge. 

Full  of  this  determination,  he  sought  his  father,  de 
clared  his  resolution,  and  was  commanded  never  more 
to  appear  in  his  presence.  Temple  bowed  :  his  heart 
was  too  full  to  permit  him  to  speak  ;  he  left  the  house 
precipitately,  and  hastened  to  relate  the  cause  of  his 
sorrows,  to  his  good  old  friend  and  his  amiable  daughter. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Earl,  vexed  to  the  soul  that 
such  a  ^fortune  should  be  lost,  determined  to  offer  him 
self  a  candidate  for  Miss  Weatherby's  favor. 

What  wonderful  changes  are  wrought  by  that  reign 
ing  power,  ambition !  The  love-sick  girl,  when  first 
she  heard  of  Temple's  refusal,  wept,  raved,  tore  her 
hair,  and  vowed  to  found  a  protestant  nunnery  with  her 
fortune;  and,  commencing  abbess,  to  shut  herself  up 
from  the  sight  of  cruel  ungrateful  man  forever. 

Her  father  was  a  man  of  the  world  :  he  suffered  this 
first  transport  to  subside,  and  then  very  deliberately 
unfolded  to  her  the  offers  of  the  old  Earl,  expatiated  on 
the  many  benefits  arising  from  an  elevated  title,  paint 
ed  in  glowing  colors  the  surprise  and  vexation  of  Tem 
ple  when  he  should  see  her  figuring  as  a  Countess  and 
his  mother-in-law,  and  begged  her  to  consider  well  be 
fore  she  made  any  rash  vows. 

The  distressed  fair  one  dried  her  tears,  listened  pa 
tiently,  and  at  length  declared  she  believed  the  surest 
-method  to  revenge  the  slight  put  on  her  by  the  son, 
would  be  to  accept  the  father :  so  said  so  done,  and  in 
a  few  days  she  became  the  Countess  D . 

Temple  heard  the  news  with  emotion :  he  had  lost 
his  father's  favor  by  avowing  his  passion  for  Lucy,  and 
he  saw  now  there  was  no  hope  of  regaining  it :  "  But 
he  shall  not  make  me  miserable,"  said  he.  "  Lucy  and 
I  have  no  ambitious  notions :  we  can  live  on  three  hun 
dred  a  year  for  some  little  time,  till  the  mortgage  is 
paid  off,  and  then  we  shall  have  sufficient  not  only  for 
the  comforts  but  many  of  the  little  elegancies  of  life. 
We  will  purchase  a  little  cottage,  my  Lucy,"  said  he, 


24  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

"  and  thither,  with  your  reverend  father,  we  will  forget 
that  there  are  such  things  as  splendor,  profusion  and 
dissipation:  we  will  have  some  cows,  and  you  shall  be 
queen  of  the  dairy ;  in  a  morning,  while  I  look  after 
my  garden,  you  shall  take  a  basket  on  your  arm,  and 
sally  forth  to  feed  your  poultry ;  and  as  they  flutter 
round  you  in  token  of  humble  gratitude,  your  father 
shall  smoke  his  pipe  in  a  woodbine  alcove,  and  viewing 
the  serenity  of  your  countenance,  feel  such  real  plea 
sure  dilate  his  heart,  as  shall  make  him  forget  that  he 
has  ever  been  unhappy." 

Lucy  smiled :  and  Temple  saw  it  was  the  smile  of 
approbation.  He  sought  and  found  a  cottage  suited  to 
/  his  taste ;  thither,  attended  by  Love  and  Hymen,  the 
happy  trio  retired,  where,  during  many  years  of  unin 
terrupted  felicity,  they  cast  not  a  wish  beyond  the  little 
boundaries  of  their  own  tenement.  Plenty,  and  her 
handmaid,  Prudence,  presided  at  their  board;  Hospi 
tality  stood  at  their  gate,  Peace  smiled  on  each  face, 
Content  reigned  in  each  heart,  and  Love  and  Health 
strewed  roses  on  their  pillows. 

Such  were  the  parents  of  Charlotte  Temple,  who  was 
the  only  pledge  of  their  mutual  love,  and  who,  at  the 
earnest  entreaty  of  a  particular  friend  was  permitted  to 
finish  the  education  her  mother  had  begun,  at  Madame 
Du  Pont's  school,  where  we  first  introduced  her  to  the 
acquaintance  of  the  reader. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AN   INTRIGUING   TEACHER. 

MADAME  Du  PONT  was  a  woman  every  way  calculated 
to  take  the  care  of  young  ladies,  had  that  care  entirely 
devolved  on  herself;  but  it  was  impossible  to  attend 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  25 

to  the  education  of  a  numerous  school  without  proper 
assistants:  and  those  assistants  were  not  always  the 
kind  of  people  whose  conversation  and  morals  were  ex 
actly  such  as  parents  of  delicacy  and  refinement  would 
wish  a  daughter  to  copy.  Among-  the  teachers  at  Ma- 
jdame  Du  Font's  school,  was  Mademoiselle  La  Rue, 
who  added  to  a  pleasing  person  and  insinuating  address, 
y  liberal  education  ancf  the  manners  of  a  gentlewoman. 
She  was  recommended  to  the  school  by  a  lady,  whose 
humanity  overstepped  the  bounds  of  discretion :  for 
though  shtf  knew  Miss  La  Rue  had  eloped  from  a  con- 
ivent  with  a  young  officer,  and,  on  coming  to  England, 
mad  lived  with  several  different  men  in  open  defiance 
£ofall  moral  and  religious  duties ;  yet,  finding  her  re- 
ouced  to  the  most  abject  want,  and  believing  the  peni 
tence  which  she  professed  to  be  sincere,  she  took  her 
into  her  own  family,  and  from  thence  recommended  her 
to  Madame  Du  Pont,  as  thinking  the  situation  more 
suitable  for  a  woman  of  her  abilities.  But  Mademoi 
selle  possessed  too  much  the  spirit  of  intrigue  to  remain 
long  without  adventures.  At  the  church,  where  she 
constantly  appeared,  her  person  attracted  the  attention 
of  a  young  man  who  was  upon  a  visit  at  a  gentleman's 
seat  in  the  neighborhood:  she  had  met  him  several 
times  clandestinely ;  and  being  invited  to  come  out  that 
evening,  and  eat  some  fruit  and  pastry  in  a  summer- 
house  belonging  to  the  gentleman  he  was  visiting,  and 
requested  to  bring  some  of  the  ladies  with  her.  Char 
lotte  being  her  favorite,  was  fixed  on  to  accompany  her. 
The  mind  of  youth  easily  catches  at  promised  plea 
sure  :  pure  and  innocent  by  nature,  it  thinks  not  of  the 
dangers  lurking  beneath  those  pleasures,  till  too  late  to 
avoid  them  ;  when  Mademoiselle  asked  Charlotte  to  go 
with  her,  she  mentioned  the  gentleman  as  a  relation, 
and  spoke  in  such  high  terms  of  the  elegance  of  his 
gardens,  the  sprightliness  of  his  conversation,  and  the 
liberality  with  which  he  entertained  his  guests,  that 
Charlotte  thought  only  of  the  pleasure  she  should  enjoy 
in  the  visit, — not  on  the  imprudence  of  going  without 
I 


26  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

her  governess's  knowledge,  or  of  the  danger  to  which 
she  exposed  herself  in  visiting  the  house  of  a  gay  young- 
man  of  fashion. 

Madame  Du  Pont  had  gone  out  for  the  evening;  and 
the  rest  of  the  ladies  retired  to  rest,  when  Charlotte  and 
the  teacher  stole  out  at  the  back  gate,  and  in  crossing 
the  field,  were  accosted  by  Montraville,  as  mentioned 
in  the  first  chapter. 

Charlotte  was  disappointed  in  the  pleasure  she  had 
promised  herself  from  this  visit.  The  levity  of  the  gen 
tlemen  and  the  freedom  of  their  conversation  disgusted 
her.  She  was  astonished  at  the  liberties  Mademoiselle 
permitted  them  to  take  ;  grew  thoughtful  and  uneasy, 
and  heartily  wished  herself  at  home  again  in  her  own 
chamber.  . 

Perhaps  one  cause  of  that  wish  might  be,  an  earnest 
desire  to  see  the  contents  of  the  letter  which  had  been 
put  into  her  hand  by  Montraville. 

Any  reader,  who  has  the  least  knowledge  of  the 
world,  will  easily  imagine  the  letter  was  made  up  of 
encomiums  on  her  beauty,  and  vows  of  everlasting  love 
and  constancy  ;  nor  will  he  be  surprised  that  a  heart 
open  to  every  gentle,  generous  sentiment,  should  feel 
itself  warmed  by  gratitude  for  a  man  who  professed  to 
feel  so  much  for  her  ;  nor  is  it  improbable  that  her  mind 
might  revert  to  the  agreeable  person  and  martial  ap 
pearance  of  Montraville. 

In  affairs  of  love,  a  young  heart  is  never  in  more 
danger  than  when  attacked  by  a  handsome  young  soldier. 
A  man  of  indifferent  appearance,  will,  when  arrayed  in 
a  military  habit,  show  to  advantage ;  but  when  beauty 
of  person,  elegance  of  manner,  and  an  easy  method  of 
paying  compliments,  are  united  to  the  scarlet  coat, 
smart  cockade,  and  military  sash,  ah  !  well-a-day  for  the 
poor  girl  who  gazes  on  him :  she  is  in  iminent  danger  ; 
but  if  she  listens  to  him  with  pleasure,  'tis  all  over  with 
her,  and  from  that  moment  she  has  neither  eyes  nor 
ears  for  any  object. 

Now,  my  dear  sober  matron,  (if  a  sober  matron  should 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  27 

deign  to  turn  over  these  pages,  before  she  trusts  them 
to  the  eye  of  a  darling  daughter)  let  me  entreat  you 
not  to  put  on  a  grave  face,  and  throw  down  the  book  in 
a  passion,  and  declare  'tis  enough  to  turn  the  heads  of 
half  the  girls  in  England:  I  do  solemnly  protest,  my 
dear  madam,  I  mean  no  more  by  what  I  have  here  ad 
vanced,  than  to  ridicule  those  romantic  girls,  who  fool 
ishly  imagine  a  red  coat  and  a  silver  epaulet  constitute 
the  line  gentleman  ;  and  should  that  fine  gentleman 
make  half  a  dozen  fine  speeches  to  them,  they  will 
imagine  themselves  so  much  in  love  as  to  fancy  it  a 
meritorious  action  to  jump  out  of  a  two  pair  of  stairs 
window,  abandon  their  friends,  and  trust  entirely  to  the 
honor  of  a  man,  who,  perhaps,  hardly  knows  the  mean 
ing  of  the  word,  and  if  he  does,  will  be  too  much  the 
modern  man  of  refinement,  to  practice  it  in  their  favor. 

Gracious  heaven  !  when  I  think  on  the  miseries  that 
must  rend  the  heart  of  a  doating  parent,  when  he  sees 
the  darling  of  his  age  at  first  seduced  from  his  protec 
tion,  and  afterwards  abandoned,  by  the  very  wretch 
whose  promises  of  love  decoyed  her  from  the  paternal 
roof — when  he  sees  her  poor  and  wretched,  her  bosom 
torn  between  remorse  for  her  crime  and  love  for  her 
vile  betrayer — when  fancy  paints  to  me  the  good  old 
man  stooping  to  raise  the  weeping  penitent,  while  every 
tear  from  her  eye  is  numbered  by  drops  frojn  his  bleed 
ing  heart,  my  bosom  glows  with  honest  indignation,  and 
I  wish  for  power  to  extirpate  those  monsters  of  seduc 
tion  from  the  earth. 

Oh,  my  dear  girls — for  to  such  only  am  I  writing — 
listen  not  to  the  voice  of  love,  unless  sanctioned  by  pa- 
ternal  approbation:  be  assured,  it  is  now  past  the  days 
of  romance  :  no  woman  can  be  run  away  with  contrary 
to  her  own  inclination  :  then  kneel  down  each  morning, 
and  request  kind  heaven  to  keep  you  free  from  tempta 
tion,  or  should  it  please  to  suffer  you  to  be  tried,  pray 
for  fortitude  to  resist  the  natural  inclination  when  it 
runs  counter  to  the  precepts  of  religion  and  virtue. 


28  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

NATURAL  SENSE  OF  PROPRIETY  INHERENT  IN  THE 
FEMALE  BOSOM. 

"I  CANNOT  think  we  have  done  exactly  right  in  going 
out  this  eveniug,  Mademoiselle,"  said  Charlotte,  seating 
herself  when  she  entered  her  apartment :  "  nay,  I  am 
sure  it  was  not  right ;  for  I  expected  to  be  very  happy, 
but  was  sadly  disappointed." 

"  It  was  your  own  fault,  then,"  replied  Mademoiselle : 
"  ftr  my  cousin  omitted  nothing  that  could  serve  to 
render  the  evening  agreeable." 

41  True,"  said  Charlotte:  "  but  I  thought  the  gentle 
man  were  very  free  in  their  manner ;  I  wonder  you 
would  suffer  them  to  behave  as  they  did." 

"Prithee,  don't  be  such  a  foolish  little  prude,"  said 
tha  artful  woman,  affecting  anger :  "I  invited  you  to 
go,  in  hopes  it  would  divert  you,  and  be  an  agreeable 
change  of  scene ;  however,  if  your  delicacy  was  hurt 
by  the  behavior  of  the  gentlemen,  you  need  not  go 
again ;  so  there  let  it  rest." 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  go  again,"  said  Charlotte  gravely, 
taking  off  her  bonnet,  and  beginning  to  prepare  for  bed : 
>;  I  am  sure,  if  Madame  Du  Pont  knew  we  had  been  out 
to  night,  she  would  be  very  angry ;  and  it  is  ten  to  one 
but  she  hears  of  it  by  some  means  or  other." 

"Nay,  Miss,"  said  La  Rue,  "perhaps  your  mighty 
sense  of  propriety  may  lead  you  to  tell  her  yourself: 
and  in  order  to  avoid  the  censure  you  would  incur, 
should  she  hear  of  it  by  accident,  throw  the  blame  on 
me:  but  I  confess  I  deserve  it:  it  will  be  a  very  kind 
return  for  that  partiality  which  led  me  to  prefer  you 
before  any  of  the  rest  of  the  ladies ;  but  perhaps  it  will 
-give  you  pleasure,"  continued  she,  letting  fall  some 
hypocritical  tears,  "to  see  me  deprived  of  bread,  and, 
for  an  action  which  by  the  most  rigid  could  be  esteemed 
an  inadvertency,  lose  my  place  and  character,  and  be 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  29 

driven  again  into  the   world,  where  I  have  already 
suffered  all  the  evils  attendant  on  poverty." 

This  was  touching-  Charlotte  in  the  most  vulnerable 
part ;  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and  taking  Mademoiselle's 
hand — "you  know,  my  dear  La  Rue,"  said  she,  "Hove 
you  too  well,  to  do  anything  that  would  injure  you  in 
my  governess's  opinion :  I  am  only  sorry  that  we  went 
out  this  evening." 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  Charlotte,"  said  she,  assuming  a 
little  vivacity  ;  "  for  if  you  had  not  gone  out,  you  would 
not  have  seen  the  gentleman  who  met  us  crossing  the 
field  ;  and  I  rather  think  you  were  pleased  with  his 
conversation." 

"I  had  seen  him  once  before,"  replied  Charlotte, 
"and  thought  him  an  agreeable  man;  and  you  know 
one  is  always  pleased  to  see  a  person  with  whom  one 
has  passed  several  cheerful  hours.  But,"  said  she,  paus 
ing,  and  drawing  the  letter  from  her  pocket,  while  a 
gentle  suffusion  of  vermillion  tinged  her  neck  and  face, 
44  he  gave  me  this  letter :  what  shall  I  do  with  it  ]" 

44  Read  it,  to  be  sure,"  returned  Mademoiselle. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  ought  not,"  said  Charlotte :  "  my 
mother  has  often  told  me,  I  should  never  read  a  letter 
given  rne  by  a  young  man,  without  first  giving  it  to  her  " 

44  Lord  bless  you,  my  dear  girl,"  cried  the  teacher, 
smiling,  "have  you  a  mind  to  be  in  leading  strings  all 
your  life  time  1  Prithee,  open  the  letter,  read  it,  and 
judge  for  yourself;  if  you  show  it  to  your  mother,  the 
consequence  will  be,  you  will  be  taken  from  school, 
and  a  strict  guard  kept  over  you :  so  you  will  stand  no 
chance  of  ever  seeing  the  smart  young  officer  again." 

44 1  should  not  like  to  leave  school  yet,"  replied 
Charlotte,  "  till  I  have  attained  a  greater  proficiency 
in  my  Italian  and  music,  j  But  you  can,  if  you  please, 
Mademoiselle,  take  the  letter  back  to  Montravilie,  and 
tell  him  I  wish  him  well,  but  cannot,  with  any  pro 
priety,  enter  into  a  clandestine  correspondence  with 
him."  She  laid  the  letter  on  the  table,  and  began  to 
undress  herself. 

3* 


30  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

"  Well,"  said  La  Rue,  "  I  vow  you  are  an  unaccount 
able  girl :  have  you  no  curiosity  to  see  the  inside  now  ? 
For  my  part,  I  could  no  more  let  a  letter  addressed  to 
me  lie  unopened  so  long,  than  I  could  work  miracles ; 
he  writes  a  good  hand,"  continued  she,  turning  the 
letter  to  look  at  the  superscription. 

"  'Tis  well  enough,"  said  Charlotte,  drawing  it  to 
wards  her. 

"  He  is  a  genteel  young  fellow,"  said  La  Rue,  care 
lessly  folding  up  her  apron  at  the  same  time  ;  "  but  I 
think  he  is  marked  with  the  small-pox." 

"  O  you  are  greatly  mistaken,"  said  Charlotte,  eager 
ly,  "  he  has  a  remarkable  clear  skin  and  a  fine  com 
plexion." 

"  His  eyes,  if  I  could  judge  by  what  I  saw,"  said  La 
Rue,  "are  grey,  and  want  expression." 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  Charlotte,  "  they  are  the 
most  expressive  eyes  I  ever  saw." 

"  Well,  child,  whether  they  are  grey  or  black  is  of 
no  consequence;  you  have  determined  not  to  read  his 
letter ;  so  it  is  likely  you  will  never  either  see  or  hear 
from  him  again." 

Charlotte  took  up  the  letter  and  Mademoiselle  con 
tinued — 

"  He  is  most  probably  going  to  America :  and  if  ever 
you  should  hear  any  account  of  him,  it  may  possibly  be, 
that  he  is  killed;  and  though  he  loved  you  ever  so  fer 
vently,  though  his  last  breath  shall  be  spent  in  a  prayer 
for  your  happiness,  it  can  be  nothing  to  you :  you  can 
feel  nothing  for  the  fate  of  a  man,  whose  letters  you 
will  not  open  and  whose  sufferings  you  will  not  alle 
viate,  by  permitting  him  to  think  you  would  remember 
him  when  absent,  and  pray  for  his  safety." 

Charlotte  still  held  the  letter  in  her  hand :  her  hear 
swelled  at  the  conclusion  of  Mademoiselle's  speech, 
and  a  tear  dropped  upon  the  wafer  that  closed  it. 

"  The  wafer  is  not  dry  yet,"  said  she,  "  and  sure  there 

can  be  no  great  harm "     She  hesitated.     La  Rue 

was  silent.     "  I  may  read  it,  Mademoiselle,  and  return 
it  afterwards." 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  31 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mademoiselle. 

"  At  any  rate,  I  am  determined  not  to  answer  it," 
continued  Charlotte,  as  she  opened  the  letter. 

Here  let  me  stop  to  make  one  remark,  and  trust  me 
my  very  heartaches  while  I  write  it;  but  certain  I  am, 
that  when  once  a  woman  has  stifled  the  sense  of  shame 
in  her  own  bosom,  when  once  she  has  lost  sight  of  the 
basis  on  which  reputation,  honor,  every  thing  that 
should  be  dear  to  the  female  heart,  rests,  she  grows 
hardened  in  guilt,  and  will  spare  no  pains  to  bring 
down  innocence  and  beauty  to  the  shocking  level  with 
herself:  and  this  proceeds  from  that  diabolical  spirit  of 
envy,  which  repines  at  seeing  another  in  the  full  pos 
session  of  that  respect  and  esteem  which  she  can  no 
longer  hope  to  enjoy. 

Mademoiselle  eyed  the  unsuspecting  Charlotte,  as 
she  perused  the  letter,  with  a  malignant  pleasure.  She 
saw  that  the  contents  had  awakened  new  emotipns  in 
her  youthful  bosom  :  she  encouraged  her  hopes,  calmed 
her  fears,  and  before  they  parted  for  the  night,  it  waa 
determined  that  she  should  meet  Montraville,  in  the 
ensuing  evening. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

DOMESTIC    PLEASURES   PLANNED. 

"I  THINK,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  laying  her 
hand  on  her  husband's  arm  as  they  were  walking  to 
gether  in  the  garden,  "I  think  next  Wednesday  is 
Charlotte's  birth  day  :  now  I  have  formed  a  little  scheme 
in  my  own  mind,  to  give  her  an  agreeable  surprise ; 
and  if  you  have  no  objection,  we  will  send  for  her  home 
on  that  day."  Temple  pressed  his  wife's  hand  in  token 
of  approbation,  and  she  proceeded — "  You  know  the 


32  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

little  alcove  in  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  of  whicl 
Charlotte  is  so  fond?  I  have  an  inclination  to  deck  this 
out  in  a  fanciful  manner,  arid  invite  all  her  little  friends 
to  partake  of  a  collation  of  fruit,  sweetmeats,  and  other 
things  suitable  to  the  general  taste  of  young  guests ; 
and  to  make  it  more  pleasing  to  Charlotte,  she  shall  be 
mistress  of  the  feast,  and  entertain  her  visitors  in  this 
alcove.  I  know  she  will  be  delighted  ;  and  to  complete 
all,  they  shall  have  some  music,  and  finish  with  a  dance." 

"  A  very  fine  plan  indeed,"  said  Temple  smiling ; 
"and  you  really  suppose,  I  will  wink  at  your  indulging 
the  girl  in  this  manner )  You  will  quite  spoil  her  Lucy 
indeed  you  will." 

"  She  is  the  only  child  we  have,"  said  Mrs.  Temple, 
the  whole  tenderness  of  a  mother  adding  animation  to 
her  fine  countenance  ;  but  it  was  withal  tempered  so 
sweetly  with  the  meek  affection  and  kind  compliance 
of  a  wife,  that  as  she  paused,  expecting  her  husband's 
answer,  he  gazed  at  her  tenderly,  and  found  he  was 
unable  to  refuse  her  request. 

"  She  is  a  good  girl,"  said  Temple. 

"  She  is  indeed,"  replied  the  fond  mother  exultingly, 
"  a  grateful,  affectionate  girl ;  and  I  am  sure  will  never 
lose  sight  of  the  duty  she  c^ves  her  parents.'* 

"  If  she  does,"  said  he,  "  she  must  forget  the  exam 
ple  set  her  by  the  best  of  mothers." 

Mrs.  Temple  could  not  reply ;  but  the  delightful 
sensation  that  dilated  her  heart,  sparkled  in  her  mtelli- 
gent  eyes,  and  heightened  the  vermillion  on  her  cheeks. 

Of  all  the  pleasures  of  which  the  human  mind  i&-  sen- 
pible,  there  is  none  equal  to  that  which  warm**  and 
expands  the  bosom,  when,  we  are  listening  to  commen 
dations  bestowed  upon  us  by  a  beloved  object,  a^d  are 
conscious  of  having  deserved  them. 

Ye  giddy  flutterers  in  the  fantastic  round  of  d.s?ipa- 
tion  who  eagerly  seek  pleasure  in  the  lofty  dome,  rich 
treat,  and  midnight  revel — tell  me,  thoughtless  daugh 
ters  of  folly,  have  you  ever  found  the  phantom  you 
have  so  long  sought  with  such  unremitting  assiduity  ] 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  S3 

Has  she  not  always  eluded  your  grasp,  and,  when  you 
have  reached  year  hand  to  take  the  cup  she  extends  to 
her  deluded  votaries,  have  you  not  found  the  long  ex 
pected  draught  strongly  tinctured  with  the  bitter  dregs 
of  disappointment  1  I  know  you  have :  I  see  it  in  the 
'wan  cheek,  sunk  eye,  and  air  of  chagrin,  which  ever 
mark  the  children  of  dissipation.  Pleasure  is  a  vain 
illusion  ;  she  draws  you  on  to  a  thousand  follies,  errors, 
and  I  may  say  vices,  and  then  leaves  you  to  deplore 
your  thoughtless  credulity. 

Look,  my  dear  friends,  at  yonder  Ipvely  virgin  array 
ed  in  a  white  robe,  devoid  of  ornament;  behold  the 
meekness  of  her  countenance,  the  modesty  of  her  gait ; 
her  handmaids  are  Humility,  Filial  Piety,  Conjugal 
Affection,  Industry  and  Benevolence;  her  name  is  CON 
TENT  ;  she  holds  in  her  hand  the  cup  of  true  felicity, 
and  when  once  you  have  formed  an  intimate  acquain 
tance  with  these  her  attendants,  nay,  you  must  admit 
them  as  your  bosom  friends  and  chief  councellors,  then, 
whatever  may  be  your  situation  in  life,  the  meek  eyed 
virgin  will  immediately  take  up  her  abode  with  you. 

Is  poverty  your  portion  1 — she  will  lighten  your 
labors,  preside  at  your  frugal  board,  and  watch  your 
quiet  slumbers. 

I  Is  your  state  mediocrity  ? — she  will  heighten  every 
;blessing  you  enjoy,  by  informing  you  how  grateful  you 
should  be  to  that  bountiful  Providence  who  might  have 
placed  you  in  the  most  abject  situation ;  and,  by  teach 
ing  you  to  weigh  your  blessings  against  your  deserts, 
show  you  how  much  more  you  receive,  than  you  have 
a  right  to  expect. 

Are  you  possessed  of  affluence  ? — what  an  inexhausti 
ble  fund  of  happiness  will  she  lay  before  you  ]  To 
relieve  the  distressed,  redress  the  injured,  in  short,  to 
perform  all  the  good  works  of  peace  and  mercy. 

Content,  my  dear  friends,  will  blunt  even  the  arrows 
of  adversity,  so  that  they  cannot  materially  harm  you. 
She  will  dwell  in  the  humblest  cottage:  she  will  at 
tend  you  even  to  a  prison :  Her  parent  is  Religion ; 


34  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

her  sisters  Patience  and  Hope.  She  will  pass  with 
you  through  life,  smoothing  the  rough  paths,  and  tread 
ing  to  earth  those  thorns  which  every  one  must  meet 
with  as  they  journey  onward  to  the  appointed  goal. 
She  will  soften  the  pains  of  sickness,  continue  with 
you  even  in  the  cold,  gloomy  hour  of  death,  and,  cheer 
ing  you  with  the  smiles  of  her  heaven-born  sister,  Hope, 
will  lead  you  triumphantly  to  a  blissful  eternity. 

I  confess  I  have  rambled  strangely  from  my  story  . 
but  what  of  that  ?  If  I  have  been  so  lucky  as  to  find 
the  road  to  happiness,  why  should  I  be  such  a  niggard 
as  to  omit  so  good  an  opportunity  of  pointing  out  the 
way  to  others?  the  very  basis  of  true  peace  of  mind  is 
a  benevolent  wish  to  see  all  the  world  as  happy  as  one's 
self;  and  from  my  soul  do  I  pity  the  selfish  churl,  who 
remembering  the  little  bickerings  of  anger,  envy,  and 
fifty  other  disagreeables  to  which  frail  mortality  is  sub 
ject,  would  wish  to  avenge  the  affront  which  pride 
whispers  him  he  has  received.  For  my  own  part,  I 
can  safely  declare,  there  is  not  a  human  being  in  the 
universe,  whose  prosperity  I  should  not  rejoice  in,  and 
to  whose  happiness  I  Would  not  contribute  to  the  utmost 
limit  of  my  power :  and  may  my  offences  be  no  more 
remembered  in  the  day  of  general  retribution,  than  as 
from  my  soul  I  forgive  every  offence  or  injury  received 
from  a  fellow  creature. 

Merciful  heaven  !  who  would  exchange  the  rapture 
of  such  a  reflection  for  all  the  gaudy  tinsel  which  the 
world  calls  pleasure! 

But  to  return. — Content  dwelt  in  Mrs.  Temple's 
bosom,  and  spread  a  charming  animation  over  her  coun 
tenance,  as  her  husband  led  her  in,  to  lay  the  plan 
she  had  formed  (for  the  celebration  of  Charlotte's  birth 
day)  before  Mr.  Eldridge. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  85 

CHAPTER  IX. 

WE    KNOW    NOT    WHAT   A   DAY    MAY   BRING   FORTH. 

VARIOUS  were  the  sensations  which  agitated  the  mind 
of  Charlotte,  during  the  day  preceding  the  evening  in 
which  she  was  to  meet  Montraville.  Several  times 
did  she  almost  resolve  to  go  to  her  governess,  show  her 
his  letter,  and  be  guided  by  her  advice:  but  Charlotte 
had  taken  one  step  in  the  ways  of  imprudence ;  and  when 
that  is  once  done,  there  are  always  innumerable  obsta- 
jcles  to  prevent  the  erring  person  returning  to  the  path 
of  rectitude :  yet  these  obstacles,  however  forcible  they 
may  appear  in  general,  exist  chiefly  in  the  imagination. 

Charlotte  feared  the  anger  of  her  governess :  she 
loved  her  mother,  and  the  very  idea  of  incurring  her 
displeasure,  gave  her  the  greatest  un-easiness;  but  there 
was  a  more  forcible  reason  still  remaining  :  should  she 
show  the  letter  to  Madame  Du  Pont,  she  must  confess 
the  means  by  which  it  came  into  her  possession ;  and 
what  would  be  the  consequence?  Mademoiselle  would 
be  turned  out  of  doors. 

"  I  must  not  be  ungrateful,"  said  she,  "  La  Rue  is 
very  kind  to  me ;  besides,  I  can,  when  I  see  Montra- 
viile,  inform  him  of  the  impropriety  of  our  continuing 
to  see  or  correspond  with  each  other,  and  request  him 
to  come  no  more  to  Chichester." 

However  prudent  Charlotte  might  be  in  these  reso 
lutions,  she  certainly  did  not  take  a  proper  method  to 
confirm  herself  in  them.  Several  times  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  she  indulged  herself  in  reading  over  the 
letter,  and  each  time  she  read  it,  the  contents  sunk 
deeper  in  her  heart.  As  evening  drew  near,  she  caught 
herself  frequently  consulting  her  watch.  "  I  wish  this 
foolish  meeting  was  over,"  said  she,  by  way  of  apology 
to  her  own  heart;  "I  wish  it  was  over;  for  when  1! 
have  seen  him,  and  convinced  him  that  my  resolution 
is  not  to  be  shaken,  I  shall  feel  my  mind  much  easier." 


OP  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

The  appointed  hour  arrived.  Charlotte  and  Made 
moiselle  eluded  the  eye  of  vigilance;  and  Montraville,- 
who  had  waited  their  corning1  with  impatience,  received 
them  with  rapturous  and  unbounded  acknowledgments 
for  their  condescension :  he  had  wisely  brought  Belcour 
with  him  to  entertain  Mademoiselle,  while  he  enjoyed 
an  uninterrupted  conversation  with  Charlotte. 

Belcour  was  a  man  whose  character  might  be  com 
prised  in  a  few  words ;  and  as  he  will  make  some  figure 
in  the  ensuing  pages,  I  shall  here  describe  him.  He 
possessed  a  genteel  fortune,  and  had  had  a  liberal  edu 
cation  ;  dissipated,  thoughtless,  and  capricious,  he  paid 
little  regard  to  the  moral  duties,  and  less  to  religious 
ones:  eager  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  he  minded  not 
the  miseries  he  inflicted  on  others,  provided  his  own 
wishes,  however  extravagant,  were  gratified.  SeU', 
darling  self,  was  the. idol  he  worshipped,  and  to  that  he 
would  have  sacrificed  the  interest  and  happiness  of 
all  mankind.  Such  was  the  friend  of  Montraville  :  will 
not  the  reader  be  ready  to  imagine,  that  the  man  who 
could  regard  such  a  character,  must  be  actuated  by  the 
same  feelings,  follow  the  same  pursuits,  and  be  equally 
unworthy  with  the  person  to  whom  he  thus  gave  his 
confidence  ? 

But  Montraville  was  .a  different  character:  generous 
in  his  disposition,  liberal  in  his  opinions,  and  good  na- 
tured  almost  to  a  fault;  yet  eager  and  impetuous  in 
the  pursuit  of  a  favorite  object,  he  staid  not  to  reflect 
on  the  consequences  which  might  follow  the  attainment 
of  his  wishes ;  with  a  mind  ever  open  to  conviction,  had 
he  been  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  a  friend  who  would 
have  pointed  out  the  cruelty  of  endeavoring  to  gain  the 
heart  of  an  innocent,  artless  girl,  when  he  knew  it  was 
utterly  impossible  for  him  to  marry  her,  and  when  the 
gratification  of  his  passion  would  be  unavoidable  infamy 
and  misery  to  her,  and  a  cause  of  never  ceasing  remorse 
to  himself:  had  these  dreadful  consequences  been  placed 
before  him  in  a  proper  light,  the  humanity  of  his  nature 
would  have  urged  him  to  give  up  the  pursuit :  but  Bel- 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  37 

1 

cour  was  not  this  friend;  he  rather  encouraged  the 
growing  passion  of  Montraville;  and  being  pleased 
with  the  vivacity  of  Mademoiselle,  resolved  to  leave  no 
argument  untried,  which  he  thought  might  prevail  on 
her  to  be  the  companion  of  their  intended  voyage ;  and 
he  made  no  doubt  but  their  example,  added  to  the  rhet 
oric  of  Montraville,  would  persuade  Charlotte  to  go 
with  them. 

Charlotte  had,  when  she  went  out  to  meet  Montra 
ville,  flattered  herself,  that  her  resolution  was  not  to  be 
shaken,  and  that  conscious  of  the  impropriety  of  her 
conduct  in  having  a  clandestine  intercourse  with  a  stran 
ger,  she  would  never  repent  the  indiscretion. 

But  alas,  poor  Charlotte !  she  knew  not  the  deceit- 
fulness  of  her  own  heart,  or  she  would  have  avoided 
the  trial  of  her  stability. 

Montraville  was  tender,  eloquent,  ardent,  and  yet 
respectful.  "  Shall  I  not  see  you  once  more,"  said  he, 
"  before  I  leave  England  '*  will  you  not  bless  me  by  an 
assurance  that  when  we  are  divided  by  a  vast  expanse 
of  sea,  I  shall  not  be  forgotten  ]" 

Charlotte  sighed. 

"  Why  that  sigh,  my  dear  Charlotte  1  could  I  flatter 
myself  that  a  fear  for  my  safety,  or  a  wish  for  my  wel 
fare  occasioned  it,  how  happy  would  it  make  me  ]" 

"  I  shall  ever  wish  you  well,  Montraville,"  said  she ; 
*'  but  we  must  meet  no  more." 

"Oh  say  not  so,  my  lovely  girl:  reflect,  that  when 
I  leave  my  native  land,  perhaps  a  few  short  weeks  may 
terminate  my  existence ;  the  perils  of  the  ocean — the 
dangers  of  war — " 

"I  can  hear  no  more,"  said  Charlotte  in  a  tremulous 
voice,  "  I  must  leave  you." 

"  Say  you  will  see  me  once  again." 

"  I  dare  not,"  said  she. 

"  Only  for  one  half  hour  to-morrow  evening :  'tis  my  last 
request.  I  shall  never  trouble  you  again,  Charlotte." 

" 1  know  not  what  to  say,"  cried  Charlotte,  struggling 
to  draw  her  hands  from  him:  "  let  me  leave  vou  now." 
4 


38  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

"  And  you  will  come  to-morrow,"  said  Montraville. 

"  Perhaps  I  may,"  said  she. 

"  Adieu,  then,  I  will  live  upon  that  hope  until  we 
meet  again." 

He  kissed  her  hand.  She  sighed  an  adieu,  and  catch 
ing  hold  of  Mademoiselle's  arm,  hastily  entered  the 
garden  gate. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WHEN  WE  HAVE    EXCITED  CURIOSITY,  IT    IS  BUT  AN   ACT 
OF  GOOD   NATURE  TO  GRATIFY  IT. 

MONTRAVILLE  was  the  youngest  son  of  a  gentleman 
of  fortune,  whose  family  being  numerous,  he  was  obliged 
to  bring  up  his  sons  to  genteel  professions,  by  the  exer 
cise  of  which,  they  might  hope  to  raise  themselves 
into  notice. 

"  My  daughters  (said  he)  have  been  educated  like 
gentlewomen ;  and  should  I  die  before  they  are  settled, 
they  must  have  some  provision  made,  to  place  them 
above  the  snares  and  temptations,  which  vice  ever 
holds  out  to  the  elegant  accomplished  female,  when 
oppressed  by  the  frowns  of  poverty  and  the  sting  of 
dependence :  my  boys,  with  only  moderate  incomes, 
when  placed  in  the  church,  at  the  bar,  or  in  the  field, 
may  exert  their  talents,  make  themselves  friends,  and 
raise  their  fortunes  on  the  basis  of  merit." 

When  Montraville  chose  the  profession  of  arms,  his 
father  presented  him  with  a  commission,  and  made  him 
a  handsome  provision  for  his  private  purse. — "  Now, 
my  boy,  (said  he)  go  !  seek  glory  in  the  field  of  battle. 
You  have  received  from  me  all  I  shall  ever  have  it  in 
my  power  to  bestow :  it  is  certain  I  have  interest  to 
gain  you  promotion ;  but  be  assured  that  thaC  interest 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  39 

shall  never  be  exerted,  unless  by  your  future  conduct 
you  deserve  it. — Remember,  therefore,  your  success  in 
life  depends  entirely  on  yourself. — There  is  one  thing 
I  think  it  my  duty  to  caution  you  against:  the  precipi 
tancy  with  which  young  men  frequently  rush  into  mat 
rimonial  engagements,  and  by  their  thoughtlessness 
draw  many  a  deserving  woman  into  scenes  of  poverty 
and  distress.  A  soldier  has  no  business  to  think  of  a 
wife,  till  his  rank  is  such  as  to  place  him  above  the  fear 
of  bringing  into  the  world  a  train  of  helpless  innocents, 
heirs  only  to  penury  and  affliction.  If,  indeed,  a  woman, 
whose  fortune  is  sufficient  to  preserve  you  in  that  state 
of  independence,  which  I  would  teach  you  to  prize, 
should  generously  bestow  herself  on  a  young  soldier, 
whose  chief  hope  of  future  prosperity  depended  on  his 
success  in  the  field — if  such  a  woman  should  offer — 
every  barrier  is  removed,  and  I  should  rejoice  in  an 
union  which  would  promise  so  much  felicity.  But  mark 
me,  boy,  if,  on  the  contrary,  you  rush  into  a  precipitate 
union  with  a  girl  of  little  or  no  fortune,  take  the  poor 
creature  from  a  comfortable  home,  and  kind  friends, 
and  plunge  her  into  all  the  evils  that  a  narrow  income 
and  increasing  family  can  inflict,  I  will  leave  you  to 
enjoy  the  blessed  fruit  of  your  rashness;  for  by  all  that 
is  sacred,  neither  my  interest  nor  rny  fortune  shall  ever 
be  exerted  in  your  favor.  I  am  serious,"  continued  he ; 
"  therefore  imprint  this  conversation  on  your  memory, 
and  let  it  influence  your  future  conduct.  Your  happi 
ness  will  always  be  dear  to  me;  and  I  wish  to  warn  you 
of  a  rock  on  which  the  peace  of  many  an  honest  fellow 
has  been  wrecked ;  for  believe  me,  the  difficulties  and 
dangers  of  the  longest  winter  campaign  are  much  easier 
to  be  borne  than  the  pangs  that  would  seize  your  heart, 
when  you  beheld  the  woman  of  your  choice,  the  child 
ren  of  your  affection,  involved  in  penury  and  distress, 
and  reflected  that  it  was  your  own  folly  and  precipi 
tancy  had  been  the  prime  cause  of  their  sufferings." 

As  this  conversation  passed  but  a  few  hours  before 
Montraville  took  leave  of  his  father,  it  was  deeply  im 


40  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

pressed  on  his  mind :  when,  therefore,  Belcour  came 
with  him  to  the  place  of  assignation  with  Charlotte,  he 
directed  him  to  enquire  of  the  French  woman  what  were 
Miss  Temple's  expectations  in  regard  to  fortune. 

Mademoiselle  informed  him,  that  though  Charlotte's 
father  possessed  a  genteel  independence,  it  was  by  no 
means  probable  that  he  could  give  his  daughter  more 
than  a  thousand  pounds ;  and  in  case  she  did  not  marry 
to  his  liking,  it  was  possible  he  might  not  give  her  a 
single  sous ;  nor  did  it  appear  the  least  likely,  that  Mr. 
Temple  would  agree  to  her  union  with  a  young  man 
on  the  point  of  embarking  for  the  seat  of  war. 

Montraville  therefore  concluded  it  was  impossible  he 
should  ever  marry  Charlotte  Temple :  and  what  end 
he  proposed  to  himself  by  continuing  the  acquaintance 
he  had  commenced  with  her,  he  did  not  at  that  moment 
give  himself  time  to  enquire. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

CONFLICT  OF  LOVE  AND  DUTY. 

ALMOST  a  week  was  now  gone,  and  Charlotte  con 
tinued  every  evening  to  meet  Montraville,  and  in 
her  heart  every  meeting  was  resolved  to  be  the  last ; 
but  alas  !  when  Montraville  at  parting,  would  earnestly 
entreat  one  more  interview,  that  treacherous  heart  be 
trayed  her  ;  and  forgetful  of  its  resolution,  pleaded  the 
cause  of  the  enemy  so  powerfully,  that  Charlotte  was 
unable  to  resist.  Another  and  another  meeting  suc 
ceeded  ;  and  so  well  did  Montraville  improve  each 
opportunity,  that  the  heedless  girl  at  length  confessed 
no  idea  could  be  so  painful  to  her  as  that  of  never  see 
ing  him  again. 

"Then  we  will  never  be  parted,"  said  he. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  41 

"  Ah  Montraville,"  replied  Charlotte,  forcing  a  smile, 
"  how  can  it  be  avoided  1  My  parents  would  never 
consent  to  our  union  ;  and  even  could  they  be  brought 
to  approve  of  it,  how  should  I  bear  to  be  separated  from 
my  kind,  my  beloved  mother?" 

"  Then  you  love  your  parents  more  than  you  do  me, 
[Charlotte!" 

"I  hope  I  do,"  said  she,  blushing-  and  looking  down  ; 
M  I  hope  my  affection  for  them  will  ever  keep  me  from 
infringing  the  laws  of  filial  duty." 

"  Well,  Charlotte/^said  Montraville  gravely,  and 
letting  go  her  hand,  "  since  that  is  the  case,  I  find  I 
have  deceived  myself  with  fallacious  hopes,  I  had  flat 
tered  my  fond  heart,  that  I  was  dearer  to  Charlotte  than 
any  thing  in  the  world  beside.  I  thought  that  you 
would  for  my  sake  have  braved  the  dangers  of  the  ocean 
— that  you  would,  by  your  affection  and  smiles,  have 
softened  the  hardships  of  war,  and,  had  it  been  my  fate 
to  fall,  that  your  tenderness  would  cheer  the  hour  of 
death,  and  smooth  my  passage  to  another  world.  But 
farewell,  Charlotte  !  I  see  you  never  loved  me.  I  shall 
now  welcome  the  friendly  ball  that  deprives  me  of  the 
sense  of  my  misery." 

"  Oh  stay,  unkind  Montraville,"  cried  she,  catching 
hold  of  his  arm,  as  he  pretended  to  leave  her;  "stay, 
and  to  calm  your  fears,  I  will  here  protest,  that  was  it 
not  for  the  fear  of  giving  pain  to  the  best  of  parents 
and  returning  their  kindness  with  ingratitude,  I  would 
follow  you  through  every  danger,  and,  in  studying  to 
promote  your  happiness,  insure  my  own,  But  I  cannot 
break  rny  mother's  heart,  Montraville  ;  I  must  not  bring 
the  grey  hairs  of  my  doating  grandfather  with  sorrow 
to  the  grave,  or  make  my  beloved  father  perhaps  curse 
the  hour  that  gave  me  birth."  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"All  these  distressing  scenes,  my  dear  Charlotte." 
cried  Montraville,  "  are  merely  the  chimeras  of  a  dis 
turbed  fancy.  Your  parents  might  perhaps  grieve  at 
first :  but  when  they  heard  from  your  own  hand,  that 


42  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

you  was  with  a  man  of  honor,  and  that  it  was  to  ensure 
your  felicity  by  an  union  with  him,  to  which  you  feared 
they  would  never  have  given  their  assent,  that  you  left 
their  protection,  they  will,  be  assured,  forgive  an  error 
which  love  alone  occasioned,  and  when  we  return  from 
America,  receive  you  with  open  arms  and  tears  of 

j°y-" 

Belcour  and  Mademoiselle  heard  this  last  speech,  and 
conceiving  it  a  proper  time  to  throw  in  their  advice 
and  persuasions,  approached  Charlotte,  and  so  well 
seconded  the  entreaties  of  Montraville,  that  finding 
Mademoiselle  intended  going  with  Belcour,  and  feeling 
her  own  treacherous  heart  too  much  inclined  to  ac 
company  them,  the  hapless  Charlotte  consented  in  an 
evil  hour,  that  the  next  evening  they  would  bring  a 
chaise,  to  the  end  of  the  town,  and  that  she  would  leave 
her  friends,  and  throw  herself  entirely  on  the  protection 
of  Montraville.  "  But  should  you,"  said  she,  looking 
earnestly  at  him,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  "  should  you, 
forgetful  of  your  promises,  and  repenting  the  engage 
ments  you  here  voluntarily  enter  into,  forsake  arid  leave 
me  on  a  foreign  shore — " 

"  Judge  not  so  meanly  of  me,"  said  he.  "  The  mo 
ment  we  reach  our  place  of  destination,  Hymen  shall 
sanctify  our  love :  and  when  I  shall  forget  your  good 
ness,  may  heaven  forget  me." 

"Ah,"  said  Charlotte,  leaning  on  Mademoiselle's, 
arm,  as  they  walked  up  the  garden  together,  "  I  have 
forgot  all  that  I  ought  to  have  remembered,  in  consent-: 
ing  to  this  intended  elopement." 

"You  are  a  strange  girl,"  said  Mademoiselle :  "you 
never  knew  your  own  mind  two  minutes  at  a  time.  Just 
now  you  declared  Montravilie's  happiness  was  what 
you  prized  most  in  the  world ;  and  now  I  suppose  you 
repent  having  insured  that  happiness  by  agreeing  to 
accompany  him  abroad." 

"  Indeed  I  do  repent,"  replied  Charlotte,  "  from  my 
soul :  but  while  discretion  points  out  the  impropriety 
cf  my  conduct,  inclination  urges  me  on  to  ruin." 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  43 

"  Ruin  !  fiddlestick !"  said  Mademoiselle  ;  "  am  not  I 
going  with  you  1  and  do  I  feel  any  of  these  qualms  ]" 

"  You  do  not  renounce  a  tender  father  and  mother," 
said  Charlotte. 

"  But  I  hazard  my  dear  reputation,"  replied  Made 
moiselle,  bridling". 

"  True,1'  replied  Charlotte,  "  but  you  do  not  feel 
what  I  do."  She  then  bade  her  good  night ;  but  sleep 
was  a  stranger  to  her  eyes,  and  the  tear  of  anguish 
watered  her  pillow. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Nature's  last,  best  gift : 
Creature  in  whom  excell'd  whatever  could 
To  sight  or  thought  be  named 
Holy,  divine!  good,  amiable  and  sweet, 
How  art  thou  fall'n  ! 

WHEN  Charlotte  left  her  restless  bed,  her  languid 
eye  and  pale  cheek  discovered  to  Madame  Du  Pont  the 
little  repose  she  had  tasted. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  affectionate  governess, 
"  what  is  the  cause  of  the  languor  so  apparent  in  your 
frame  ?  Are  you  not  well  T' 

"  Yes,  my  dear  madam,  very  well,"  replied  Charlotte,  , 
attempting  to  smile ;  "  but  I  know  not  how  it  was  ;  I  j 
could  not  sleep  last  night,  and  my  spirits  are  depressed 
this  morning." 

"  Come,  cheer  up  my  love,"  said  the  governess  ;  "  1 
believe  I  have  brought  a  cordial  to  revive  them.  I  have 
just  received  a  letter  from  your  good  mamma,  and  here 
is  one  for  yourself."' 

Charlotte  hastily  took  the  letter :  it  contained  these 
words : 

"  As  to-morrow  is  the  anniversary  of  the  happy  day 


44  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

that  gave  my  beloved  girl  to  the  anxious  wishes  of  a 
maternal  heart,  I  have  requested  your  governess  to  let 
you  come  home  and  spend  it  with  us ;  and  as  I  know 
you  to  be  a  good  affectionate  child,  and  make  it  your 
study  to  improve  in  those  branches  of  education,  which 
you  know  will  give  most  pleasure  to  your  delighted 
parents,  as  a  reward  for  your  diligence  and  attention,  I 
have  prepared  an  agreeable  surprise  for  your  reception. 
Your  grandfather,  eager  to  embrace  the  darling  of  his 
aged  heart,  will  come  in  the  chaise  for  you :  so  hold 
yourself  in  readiness  to  attend  him  by  nine  o'clock. 
Your  ,dear  father  joins  in  every  tender  wish  for  your 
health  and  future  felicity,  which  warms  the  heart  of 
my  dear  Charlotte's  affectionate  mother. 

L.  TEMPLE." 

"  Gracious  heaven !"  cried  Charlotte,  forgetting 
where  she  was,  and  raising  her  streaming  eyes,  as  in 
earnest  supplication. 

Madame  Du  Pont  was  surprised.  "  Why  these  tears, 
my  love  V'  said  she.  "  Why  this  seeming  agitation  1  I 
thought  the  letter  would  have  rejoiced,  instead  of  dis 
tressing  you," 

"  It  does  rejoice  me,"  replied  Charlotte,  endeavoring 
at  composure,  "  but  I  was  praying  for  merit  to  deserve 
the  unremitted  attentions  of  the  best  of  parents." 

"  You  do  right,"  said  Madame  Du  Pont,  "  to  ask  the 
assistance  of  heaven  that  you  may  continue  to  deserve 
their  love.  Continue,  my  dear  Charlotte,  in  the  course 
you  have  ever  pursued,  and  you  will  insure  at  once 
their  happiness  and  your  own." 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Charlotte,  as  her  governess  left  her 
"  I  have  forfeited  both  for  ever  !  Yet  let  me  reflect  • 
the  irrevocable  step  is  not  yet  taken :  it  is  not  too  lata 
to  recede  from  thejjrjnjk  of  a  precipice,  from  which  1 
can  only  behold  the  dark  abyss  of  ruin,  shame,  and 
remorse." 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  and  flew  to  the  apartment  of 
La  Rue.  "  Oh  Mademoiselle !"  said  she,  "  I  am 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  45 

snatched  by  a  miracle  from  destruction  !  This  letter  has 
saved  me :  it  has  opened  my  eyes  to  the  folly  I  was  so 
near  committing.  I  will  not  go,  Mademoiselle  ;  I  will 
not  wound  the  hearts  of  those  dear  parents  who  make 
my  happiness  the  whole  study  of  their  lives." 

"Well,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "do  as  you  please,  Miss; 
but  pray  understand  that  my  resolution  is  taken,  and  it 
is  not  in  your  power  to  alter  it.  I  shall  meet  the  gen 
tlemen  at  the  appointed  hour,  and  shall  not  be  surprised 
at  any  outrage  which  Montraville  may  commit,  when 
he  finds  himself  disappointed.  Indeed  I  should  not  be 
astonished,  was  he  to  come  immediately  here,  and  re 
proach  you  for  your  instability  in  the  hearing  of  the 
whole  school :  and  what  will  be  the  consequence?  You 
will  bear  the  odium  of  having  formed  the  resolution  of 
eloping,  and  every  girl  of  spirit  will  laugh  at  your 
want  of  fortitude  to  put  it  in  execution,  while  prudes 
and  fools  will  load  you  with  reproach  and  contempt. 
You  will  have  lost  the  confidence  of  your  parents,  m\ 
curred  their  anger,  and  the  scoffs  of  the  world ;  and 
what  fruit  do  you  expect  to  reap  from  this  piece  of  he 
roism,  (for  such  no  doubt  you  think  it  is  ?)  you  will 
nave  the  pleasure  to  reflect,  that  you  have  deceived 
the  man  who  adores  you,  and  whom  in  your  heart  you 
prefer  to  all  other  men,  and  that  you  are  separated  from 
him  forever." 

This  eloquent, harangue  was  given  with  such  volu 
bility,  that  Charlotte  did  not  find  an  opportunity  to  in 
terrupt  her,  or  to  offer  a  single  word  till  the  whole  was 
finished,  and  then  found  her  ideas  so  confused,  that  she 
knew  not  what  to  say. 

At  length  she  determined  that  she  would  go  with 
Mademoiselle  to  the  place  of  assignation,  convince 
Montraville  of  the  necessity  of  adhering  to  the  resolu- 
'ion  of  remaining  behind ;  assure  him  of  her  affection, 
\nd  bid  him  adieu. 

Charlotte  formed  this  plan  in  her  mind,  and  exulted 
it  the  certainty  of  its  success.  "  How  shall  I  rejoice," 
eaid  she,  "  in  this  triumph  of  reason  over  inclination, 


46  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

and,  when  in  the  arms  of  my  affectionate  parents,  I  lift 
up  my  soul  in  gratitude  to  heaven  as  I  look  back  on  the 
dangers  I  have  escaped  !" 

The  hour  of  assignation  arrived:  Mademoiselle  put 
what  money  and  valuables  she  possessed  in  her  pocket, 
and  advised  Charlotte  to  do  the  same;  but  she  refused  ; 
"  my  resolution  is  fixed,"  said  she ;  "  I  will  sacrifice 
(ove  to  duty." 

Mademoiselle  smiled  internally;  and  they  proceeded 
softly  down  the  back  stairs  and  out  of  the  garden  gate. 
Montraville  and  Belcour  were  ready  to  receive  them. 

"Now,"  said  Montraville,  taking  Charlotte  in  his 
arms,  "  you  are  mine  forever." 

"  No,"  said  she,  withdrawing  from  his  embrace,  '*  I 
am  come  to  take  an  everlasting  farewell." 

It  would  be  useless  to  repeat  the  conversation  that 
here  ensued ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  Montraville  used 
every  argument  that  had  formerly  been  successful, 
j  Charlotte's  resolution  began  to  waver,  and  he  drew  her 
a  hnost  imperceptibly  towards  the  chaise. 
"  "  I  cannot  go,"  said  she  :  "  cease  dear  Montraville  to 
persuade.  I  must  not :  religion,  duty,  forbid." 

"  Cruel  Charlotte,"  said  he,  "  if  you  disappoint  my 
ardent  hopes,  by  all  that  is  sacred,  this  hand  shall  put  a 
period  to  my  existence.  I  cannot — will  not  live  with 
out  you." 

"  Alas,  my  torn  heart,"  said  Charlotte,  "  how  shall 
I  act]" 

"  Let  me  direct  you,"  said  Montraville,  lifting  her 
into  the  chaise. 

"  Oh  !  my  clear,  forsaken  parents!"  cried  Charlotte. 

The  chaise  drove  off.  She  shrieked,  and  fainted  in 
the  arms  of  her  betrayer. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  47 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

CRUEL   DISAPPOINTMENT. 

"  WHAT  pleasure,"  cried  Mr.  Eldridge,  as  he  stepped 
into  the  chaise  to  go  for  his  grand  daughter,  "  what 
leasure  expands  the  heart  of  an  old  man  when  he  be- 
olds  the  progeny  of  a  beloved  child  growing  up  in 
jvery  virtue  that  adorned  the  mind  of  her  parents.  I 
foolishly  thought,  some  few  years  since,  that  every  sense 
of  joy  was  buried  in  the  grave  of  my  dear  partner  and 
my  son ;  but  my  Lucy,  by  her  filial  affection,  soothed  , 
my  soul  to  peace,  and  this  dear  Charlotte  has  twined 
herself  round  my  heart,  and  opened  such  new  scenes 
of  delight  to  my  view,  that  I  almost  forget  that  I  have 
ever  been  unhappy." 

When  the  chaise  stopped,  he  alighted  with  the  alac 
rity  of  youth :  so  much  do  the  emotions  of  the  soul 
influence  the  body. 

It  was  half  past  eight  o'clock  :  the  ladies  were  assem 
bled  in  the  school  room,  and  Madame  Du  Pont  waa 
preparing  to  offer  the  morning  sacrifice  of  prayer  and 
praise,  when  it  was  discovered,  that  Mademoiselle  and 
Charlotte  were  missing. 

"  She  is  busy  no  doubt,"  said  the  governess,  "  in  pre 
paring  Charlotte  for  her  little  excursion  ;  but  pleasure 
shall  never  make  us  forget  our  duty  to  our  Creator.  Go, 
one  of  you,  and  bid  them  both  attend  prayers." 

The  lady  who  went  to  summon  them  soon  returned, 
and  informed  the  governess,  that  the  room  was  locked, 
and  that  she  had  knocked  repeatedly,  but  obtained  no 
answer. 

"  Good  heavens  !"  cried  Madame  Du  Pont,  "  this  is 
very  strange ;"  and  turning  pale  with  terror,  she  went 
hastily  to  the  door  and  ordered  it  to  be  forced  open. 
The  apartment  instantly  discovered  that  no  person  had 
been  in  it  the  preceding  night,  the  beds  appearing  as 
though  just  made.  The  house  was  instantly  a  scene 


48  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE 

of  conrrwion :  the  garden,  the  pleasure  grounds,  were 
searched  to  no  purpose  ;  every  apartment  rung  with  the 
name  or  Miss  Temple  and  Mademoiselle ;  but  they  were 
too  distant  to  hear ;  and  every  face  wore  the  marks  of 
disappointment. 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  sitting  in  the  parlor,  eagerly  ex 
pecting  his  grand  daughter  to  descend,  ready  equipped 
for  her  journey :  he  heard  the  confusion  that  reigned 
"n  the  house  ;  he  heard  the  name  of  Charlotte  frequent- 
y  repeated.  "  What  can  be  the  matter  1"  said  he,  rising 
and  opening  the  door :  "  I  fear  some  accident  has  be 
fallen  my  dear  girl." 

The  governess  entered.  The  visible  agitation  of  her 
counterance  discovered  that  something  extraordinary 
had  happened. 

"  Where  is  Charlotte  V1  said  he.  "  Why  does  not 
my  child  corne  to  welcome  her  doating  parent  1" 

"  Be  composed,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Madame  Du  Pont ; 
"  do  not  frighten  yourself  unnecessarily.  She  is  not  in 
the  house  at  present ;  but  as  Mademoiselle  is  undoubt 
edly  with  her,  she  will  speedily  return  in  safety;  and  I 
hope  they  will  both  be  able  to  account  for  this  unsea 
sonable  absence  in  such  a  manner  as  shall  remove  our 
present  uneasiness." 

"  Madam,"  cried  the  old  man,  with  an  angry  look, 
"  has  my  child  been  accustomed  to  go  out  without  leave, 
with  no  other  company  or  protector  than  that  French 
woman?  Pardon  me,  Madam,,!  mean  no  reflections  on 
your  country,  but  I  never  did  like  Mademoiselle  La 
Rue  ;  I  think  she  was  a  very  improper  person  to  be  en 
trusted  with  the  care  of  such  a  girl  as  Charlotte  Temple, 
or  to  be  suffered  to  take  her  from  under  your  imme 
diate  protection." 

"  You  wrong  me,  Mr.  Eldridge,"  said  she,  "  if  you 
suppose  I  have  ever  permitted  your  grand  daughter  to 
go  out,  unless  with  the  other  ladies.  I  would  to  heaven 
I  could  form  any  probable  conjecture  concerning  her 
absence  this  morning ;  but  it  is  a  mystery  to  me  which 
her  return  can  alone  unravel." 


EMPLEv  49 

Servants  WiM-e  wow  despatchea  to  every  place  where 
there  was  the  least  hope  of  hearing  any  tidings  of  the 
fugitives,  bat  in  vain.  Dreadful  were  the  hours  of 
horrid  suspense  which  Mi.  Eldridge  passed  till  twelve 
o'clock,  when  that  suspense  was  reduced  to  a  shocking 
certainty,  and  every  spark  of  hope,  which  till  then  they 
had  indulged,  was  in  a  moment  extinguished. 

Mr.  Eldridge  was  preparing,  with  a  heavy  heart,  to 
return  to  his  anxiously  expecting  children,  when  Ma 
dame  Du  Pont  received  the  following  note,  without 
either  name  or  date. 

"Miss  Temple  is  well,  and  wishes  to  relieve  the 
anxiety  of  her  parents,  by  letting  them  know  she  has 
voluntarily  put  herself  under  the  protection  of  a  man 
whose  future  study  shall  be  to  make  her  happy. — Pur 
suit  is  needless ;  the  measures  taken  to  avoid  discovery 
are  too  effectual  to  be  eluded.  When  she  thinks  her 
friends  are  reconciled  to  this  precipitate  step,  they  may 
perhaps  be  informed  of  her  place  of  residence.  Made 
moiselle  is  with  her." 

As  Madame  Du  Pont  read  these  cruel  lines,  sha 
turned  pale  as  ashes,  her  limbs  trembled,  and  she  was 
forced  to  call  for  a  glass  of  water.  She  loved  Charlotte 
truly ;  and  when  she  reflected  on  the  innocence  and 
gentleness  of  her  disposition,  she  concluded  that  it  must 
have  been  the  advice  and  machinations  of  La  Rue. 
which  led  her  to  this  imprudent  action ;  she  recollected 
her  agitation  at  the  receipt  of  her  mother's  letter,  and 
saw  in  it  the  conflict  of  her  mind. 

"  Does  that  letter  relate  to  Charlotte  T'  said  Mr. 
Eldridge,  having  waited  some  time  in  expectation  of 
Madame  Du  Pont's  speaking. 

"  It  does,"  said  she.  "  Charlotte  is  well,  but  cannot  re 
turn  to-day." 

"  Not  return,  Madam  ?  where  is  she  1  who  will  detain 
her  from  her  fond  expecting  parents]" 

"  "fou  distract  me  with  these  questions,  Mr.  Eldridge. 
Indeed  I  know  not  where  she  is,  or  who  has  seduced 
her  from  her  duty." 

5 


50  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

The  whole  truth  now  rushed  at  once  upon  Mr.  Eld- 
ridge's  mind.  "She  has  eloped  then,"  said  he,  "my. 
child  is  betrayed;  the  darling,  the  comfort  of  my  aged) 
heart  is  lost.  Oh  would  to  heaven  I  had  died  but  yes^f 
terday." 

A  violent  gush  of  grief  in  some  measure  relieved  him, 
and  after  several  vain  attempts  he  at  length  assumed 
sufficient  composure  to  read  the  note. 

"  And  how  shall  I  return  to  my  children  V  said  he, 
"  how  approach  that  mansion  so  late  the  habitation  of 
peace  1  Alas !  my  dear  Lucy,  how  will  you  support 
these  heart-rending  tidings  ]  or  how  shall  I  be  enabled 
to  console  you,  who  need  so  much  consolation  myself?" 

The  old  man  returned  to  the  chaise,  but  the  light 
step,  and  cheerful  countenance  were  no  more ;  sorrow 
filled  his  heart  and  guided  his  motions  ;  he  seated  him 
self  in  the  chaise,  his  venerable  head  reclined  upon  his 
bosom,  his  hands  were  folded,  his  eye  fixed  on  vacancy, 
and  the  large  drops  of  sorrow  rolled  silently  down  hia 
cheeks.  There  was  a  mixture  of  anguish  and  resigna 
tion  depicted  in  his  countenance,  as  if  he  should  say, 
henceforth  who  shall  dare  to  boast  his  happiness,  or 
even  in  idea  contemplate  his  treasure,  lest  in  the  very 
moment  his  heart  is  exulting  in  its  own  felicity,  the 
object  which  constitutes  that  felicity  should  be  torn 
from  him. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MATERNAL  SORROW. 

SLOW  and  heavy  passed  the  time  while  the  carriage 
was  conveying  Mr.  Eldridge  home ;  and  yet  when  he 
came  in  sight  of  the  house,  he  wished  a  long  reprieve 
from  the  dreadful  task  of  informing  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tem 
ple  of  their  daughter's  elopement' 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  51 

It  is  easy  to  judge  of  the  anxiety  of  those  affectionate 
parents,  when  they  found  the  return  of  their  father  de 
layed  so  much  beyond  the  expected  time.  They  were 
n&$7  met  in  the  dining  parlor,  and  several  of  the  young 
people  who  had  been  invited,  were  already  arrived. 
Each  different  part  of  the  company  was  employed  in 
the  same  manner,  looking  out  at  the  windows  which 
faced  the  road.  At  length  the  long  expected  chaise 
appeared :  Mrs.  Temple  ran  out  to  receive  and  wel 
come  her  darling— her  young  companions  flocked  round 
the  door,  each  one  eager  to  give  her  joy  on  the  return 
of  her  birth  day.  The  door  of  the  chaise  was  opened  : 
Charlotte  was  not  there. — "  Where  is  my  child  ]"  cried 
Mrs.  Temple,  in  breathless  agitation. 

Mr.  Eldridge  could  not  answer :  he  took  hold  of  his 
daughter's  hand  and  led  her  into  the  house ;  and  sink 
ing  on  the  first  chair  he  came  to,  burst  into  tears  and 
sobbed  aloud. 

"She  is  dead,"  cried  Mrs.  Temple.  "Oh  my  dear 
Charlotte  !"  and  clasping  her  hands  in  an  agony  of 
distress,  fell  into  strong  hysterics. 

Mr.  Temple,  who  had  stood  speechless  with  surprise 
and  fear,  now  ventured  to  enquire  if  indeed  his  Char 
lotte  was  no  more.  Mr.  Eldridge  led  him  into  another 
apartment:  and  putting  the  fatal  note  into  his  hand 
cried,  "  Bear  it  like  a  christain :"  and  turnecl  from  him, 
endeavoring  to  suppress  his  own  too  visible  emotion. 

It  would  be  in  vain  to  attempt  describing  what  Mr. 
Temple  felt  whilst  he  hastily  ran  over  the  dreadful 
lines :  when  he  had  finished,  the  paper  dropt  from  his 
unnerved  hand.  "  Gracious  heaven  !"  said  he,  "  could 
Charlotte  act  thus  1"  Neither  tear  nor  sigh  escaped 
him ;  and  he  set  the  image  of  mute  sorrow,  till  roused 
from  his  stupor  by  the  repeated  shrieks  of  Mrs.  Temple. 
He  rose  hastily  and  rushing  into  the  apartment  where 
she  was,  folded  his  arms  about  her,  and  saying — "  Let 
us  be  patient,  my  dear  Lucy."  Nature  relieved  his 
almost  bursting  heart  by  a  friendly  gush  of  tears. 

Should  any  one,  presuming  on  his  own  philosophic 


52  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

temper,  look  with  an  eye  of  contempt  on  a  man  who 
could  indulge  a  woman's  weakness,  let  him  remember 
that  man  was  a  father,  and  he  will  then  pity  the  misery 
which  wrung  those  drops  from  a  nohle  and  generous 
heart. 

Mrs.  Temple  beginning  to  be  a  little  more  composed,  but 
still  imagining  her  child  was  dead,  her  husband  gently 
taking  her  hand,  cried — "  You  are  mistaken  my  love. 
Charlotte  is  not  dead." 

"  Then  she  is  very  ill ;  else  why  did  she  not  come  1 
But  I  will  go  to  her:  the  chaise  is  still  at  the  door: 
Let  me  go  instantly  to  the  dear  girl.  If  I  was  ill,  she 
would  fly  to  attend  me,  to  alleviate  my  sufferings,  and 
cheer  me  with  her  love." 

"Be  calm  my  dearest  Lucy,  and  I  will  tell  you  all," 
said  Mr.  Temple.  "  You  must  not  go,  indeed  you  must 
not :  it  will  be  of  no  use." 

"Temple,"  said  she,  assuming  a  look  of  firmness 
and  composure,  "  tell  me  the  truth,  I  beseech  you.  I 
cannot  bear  this  dreadful  suspense.  What  misfortune 
has  befallen  my  child  1  let  me  know  the  worst,  and  I 
will  endeavor  to  bear  it  as  I  ought." 

"  Lucy,"  replied  Mr.  Temple,  "  imagine  your  daugh 
ter  alive,  and  in  no  danger  of  death :  what  misfortune 
would  you  then  dread  ]" 

"  There  is  one  misfortune  which  is  worse  than  death. 
But  I  know  my  child  too  well  to  suspect — "  "  Be  not 
too  confident,  Lucy." 

"  Oh  heavens  !"  said  she,  "  what  horrid  images  do 
you  start :  is  it  possible  she  could  forget." 

"  She  has  forgot  us  all  my  love ;  she  has  preferred 
the  love  of  a  stranger,  to  the  affectionate  protection  of 
her  friends." 

"  Not  eloped  V  cried  she  eagerly. 

Mr.  Temple  was  silent. 

"  You  cannot  contradict,"  said  she,  "  I  see  my  fate 
n  those  tearful  eyes.  Oh  Charlotte  !  Charlotte  !  how 
ill  have  you  requited  our  tenderness  !  But,  Father  of 
mercies,"  continued  she,  sinking  on  her  knees,  and 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  53 

raising  her  streaming  eyes  and  clasped  hands  to  hea 
ven,  "  this  once  vouchsafe  to  hear  a  fond,  a  distracted 
mother's  prayer.  Oh  let  thy  bounteous  Providence 
watch  over  and  protect  the  dear  thoughtless  girl,  save 
her  from  the  miseries  which  I  fear  will  be  her  portion, 
and  oh  !  of  thine  infinite  mercy,  make  her  not  a  mother, 
lest  she  should  one  day  feel  what  I  now  suffer." 

The  last  words  faltered  on  her  tongue,  and  she  fell 
fainting  into  the  arms  of  her  husband,  who  had  invol- 
untaril}  dropped,  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

A  mother's  anguish,  when  disappointed  in  her  ten- 
derest  hopes,  none  but  a  mother  can  conceive.  Yet 
my  dear  young  readers,  I  would  have  you  to  read  this 
scene  with  attention,  and  reflect  that  you  may  your 
selves  one  day  be  mothers.  Oh,  my  friends,  as  you 
value  your  eternal  happiness,  wound  not  by  thoughtless 
ingratitude  the  peace  of  the  mother  who  bore  you  :  re 
member  the  tenderness,  the  care,  the  unremitting  anxi 
ety  with  which  she  has  attended  to  all  your  wants  and 
wishes,  from  earliest  infancy  to  the  present  day ;  behold 
the  mild  ray  of  affectionate  applause  that  beams  from 
her  eye  on  the  performance  of  your  duty ;  listen  to  her 
reproofs  with  silent  attention ;  they  proceed  from  a 
heart  anxious  for  your  future  felicity :  you  must  love 
her ;  nature,  all-powerful  nature,  has  placed  the  seeds 
of  filial  affection  in  your  bosoms. 

Then  once  more  read  over  the  sorrows  of  poor  Mrs. 
Temple :  remember  the  mother  whom  you  so  dearly 
love  and  venerate,  will  feel  the  same,  should  you,  for 
getful  of  the  respect  due  to  your  Maker  and  yourself, 
forsake  the  paths  of  virtue,  for  those  of  vice  and  folly. 


54  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

EMBARKATION. 

IT  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  the  united  ef 
forts  of  Mademoiselle  and  Montraville  could  support 
Charlotte's  spirits  during1  their  short  ride  from  Chiches- 
ter  to  Portsmouth,  where  a  boat  waited  to  take  them 
immediately  on  board  the  ship  in  which  they  were  to 
embark  for  America. 

As  soon  as  she  became  tolerably  composed,  she  en 
treated  pen  and  ink  to  write  to  her  parents.  This  she 
did  in  the  most  affecting-  artless  manner,  entreating 
their  pardon  and  blessing,  and  describing1  the  dreadful 
situation  of  her  mind,  the  conflict  she  suffered  in  endea 
voring  to  conquer  this  unfortunate  attachment,  and 
concluded  with  saying,  her  only  hope  of  future  comfort 
consisted  in  the  (perhaps  delusive)  idea  she  indulged, 
of  being  once  more  folded  in  their  protecting  arms,  and 
hearing  the  words  of  peace  and  pardon  from  their  lips. 

The  tears  streamed  incessantly  while  she  was  writing, 
and  she  was  frequently  obliged  to  lay  down  her  pen ; 
but  when  the  task  was  completed,  and  she  had  com 
mitted  the  letter  to  the  care  of  Montraville,  to  be  sent 
to  the  post-office,  she  became  more  calm,  and  indulging1 
the  delightful  hope  of  soon  receiving  an  answer  that] 
would  seal  her  pardon,  she  in  some  measure  assumed  | 
her  usual  cheerfulness. 

But  Montraville  knew  too  well  the  consequences 
that  must  unavoidably  ensue,  should  this  letter  reach 
Mr.  Temple :  he  therefore  craftily  resolved  to  walk  on 
the  deck,  tear  it  to  pices,  and  commit  the  fragments  to 
the  care  of  Neptune,  who  might  or  might  not,  as  it 
suited  his  convenience,  convey  them  on  shore. 

All  Charlotte's  hopes  and  wishes  were  now  centered 
in  one,  namely,  that  the  fleet  might  be  detained  at  Spit- 
head,  till  she  might  receive  a  letter  from  her  friends ; 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  55 

but  in  this  she  was  disappointed  ;  for  the  second  morn 
ing  after  she  went  on  board,  the  signal  was  made,  the 
fleet  weighed  anchor,  and  in  a  few  hours  (the  wind  be 
ing  favorable)  they  bid  adieu  to  the  white  cliffs  of 
Albion. 

In  the  mean  time  every  inquiry  that  could  be  thought 
of  was  made  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple  :  for  many  days 
did  they  indulge  the  fond  hope  that  she  was  merely  gone 
off  to  be  married,  and  that  when  the  indissoluble  knot 
was  once  tied,  she  would  return  with  the  partner  she 
had  chosen,  and  entreat  their  blessing  and  forgiveness. 

"  And  shall  we  not  forgive  her  V'  said  Mr.  Temple. 

"Forgive  her!"  exclaimed  the  mother,  "  Oh  yes, 
whatever  be  her  errors,  is  she  not  our  child  ?  and  though 
bowed  even  to  the  earth  with  shame  and  remorse,  is 
it  not  our  duty  to  raise  the  poor  penitent,  and  whisper 
peace  and  comfort  to  her  desponding  soul  ?  would  she 
but  return,  with  rapture  would  I  fold  her  to  my  heart, 
and  bury  every  remembrance  of  her  faults  in  the  dear 
embrace." 

'But  still  day  after  day  passed  on,  and  Charlotte  did 
not  appear,  nor  were  any  tidings  to  be  heard  of  her : 
yet  each  rising  morning  was  welcomed  by  some  new 
hope — the  evening  brought  with  it  disappointment.  At 
length  hope  was  no  more  ;  despair  usurped  her  place ; 
and  the  mansion  which  was  once  the  mansion  of  peace, 
became  the  habitation  of  pale  dejected  melancholy. 

The  cheerful  smile  that  was  wont  to  adorn  the  face 
of  Mrs.  Temple,  was  fled,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the 
support  of  unaffected  piety,  and  a  consciousness  of  ever 
having  set  before  her  child  the  fairest  example,  she 
must  have  sunk  under  this  heavy  affliction. 

"  Since,"  said  she,  "  the  severest  scrutiny  cannot 
charge  me  with  any  breach  of  duty,  to  have  deserved 
this  severe  chastisement,  I  will  bow  before  the  power 
who  inflicts  it  with  humble  resignation  to  his  will;  nor 
shall  the  duty  of  a  wife  be  totally  absorbed  in  the  feel 
ings  of  the  mother;  I  will  endeavor  to  seem  more 
chy^riul,  und  by  appearing  in  some  measure  to  have 


56  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

conquered^ my  own  sorrow,  alleviate  the  sufferings  of 
my  husband,  and  rouse  him  from  that  torpor  into  which 
this  misfortune  has  plunged  him.  My  father,  too,  de 
mands  my  care  and  attention :  I  inusTriot,  by  a  selfish 
indulgence  of  my  own  grief,  forget  the  interest  those 
two  dear  objects  take  in  my  happiness  or  misery :  I 
will  wear  a  smile  on  my  face,  though  the  thorn  rankles 
in  my  heart :  and  if  by  so  doing  I  contribute  in  the 
smallest  degree  to  restore  their  peace  of  mind,  I  shall 
be  amply  rewarded  for  the  pain  the  concealment  of  my 
own  feelings  may  occasion." 

Thus  argued  this  excellent  woman  :  and  in  the  exe 
cution  of  so  laudable  a  resolution,  we  shall  leave  her, 
to  follow  the  fortunes  of  the  hapless  victim  of  impriH 
dence  and  evil  counsellors. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

NECESSARY   DIGRESSION. 

ON  board  the  ship  in  which  Charlotte  and  Mademoi 
selle  were  embarked,  wyas  an  officer  of  large  unincurn- 
bered  fortune  and  elevated  rank,  and  whom  I  shall  call 
Cray  ton. 

He  was  one  of  those  men,  who,  having  travelled  in 
their  youth,  pretend  to  have  contracted  a  peculiar  fond 
ness  for  every  thing  foreign,  and  to  hold  in  contempt 
the  productions  of  their  own  country ;  and  this  affected 
partiality  extended  even  to  the  women. 

With  him,  therefore,  the  blushing  modesty  and  un 
affected  simplicity  of  Charlotte  passed  unnoticed  ;  but 
the  forward  pertness  of  LajUifi,,the  fr£§dom_  of  hei 
conversation,  the  elegance~of  her  person,  mixed  with  a 
certain  engaging  je  ne  sais  quoi,  perfectly  enchanted 
him. 

The   reader,  no   doubt,   has  already  developed   the 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 


57 


character  of  La  Rue  :  designing,  artful,  and  selfish,  she 
accepted  the  devoirs  of  Belcour,  because  she  was 
heartily  weary  of  the  retired  life  she  led  at  the  school, 
wished  to  be  released  from  what  she  deemed  a  slavery, 
and  return  to  that  vortex  of  folly  and  dissipation  which 
had  once  plunged  her  in  the  deepest  misery  :  but  her 
plan,  she  flattered  herself,  was  now  better  formed :  she 
resolved  to  put  herself  under  the  protection  of  no  man, 
till  she  had  first  secured  a  settlement ;  but  the  clandes 
tine  manner  in  which  she  left  Madame  Du  Font's,  pre 
vented  her  putting  this  plan  into  execution,  though 
Belcour  solemnly  protested  he  would  make  her  a  hand 
some  settlement  the  moment  they  arrived  at  Portsmouth. 
This  he  afterwards  contrived  to  evade  by  a  pretended 
hurry  of  business;  La  Rue  readily  conceiving  he  never 
meant  to  fulfil  his  promise,  determined  to  change  her 
battery,  and  attack  the  heart  of  Colonel  Crayton.  She 
soon  discovered  the  partiality  he  entertained  for  her 
nation ;  and  having  imposed  on  him  a  feigned  tale  of 
distress,  represented  Belcour  as  a  villain  who  had  se 
duced  her  from  her  friends  under  promise  of  marriage, 
and  afterwards  betrayed  her,  pretending  great  remorse 
for  tlie  errors  she  had  committed,  and  declaring  what 
ever  her  affection  might  have  been,  it  was  now  entirely 
extinguished,  and  she  wished  for  nothing  more  th&n  an 
opportunity  to  leave  a  course  of  life  which  her  soul 
abhorred  ;  but  she  had  no  friends  to  apply  to ;  they  had 
all  renounced  her,  and  guilt  and  misery  would  undoubt 
edly  be  her  future  portion  through  life. 

Crayton  was  possessed  of  many  amiable  qualities; 
though  the  peculiar  trait  in  his  character,  which  we 
have  already  mentioned,  in  a  great  measure  threw  a 
shade  over  them.  He  was  beloved  for  his  humanity 
and  benevolence  by  all  who  knew  him ;  but  he  was 
easy  and  unsuspicious  himself,  and  became  a  dupe  to 
the  artifice  of  others. 

He  was,  when  very  young,  united  to  an  amiable 
Parisian  lady,  and  perhaps  it  was  his  affection  for  her 
that  laid  the  foundation  for  the  partiality  he  ever  re- 


58  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

tained  for  the  whole  nation.  He  had  by  her  one  daugh 
ter,  who  entered  into  the  world  but  a  few  hours  before 
her  mother  left  it.  This  lady  was  universally  beloved 
and  admired,  being  endowed  with  all  the  virtues  of  her 
mother,  without  the  weakness  of  her  father  :  she  was 
married  to  major  Beauchamp,  and  was  at  this  time  in 
die  same  fleet  with  her  father,  attending  her  husband 
to  New  York. 

Crayton  was  melted  by  the  affected  contrition  and 
distress  of  La  Rue :  he  would  converse  with  her  for 
hours,  read  to  her,  play  cards  with  her,  listen  to  all  her 
complaints,  and  promise  to  protect  her  to  the  utmost  of 
his  power.  La  Rue  easily  saw  his  character;  her  sole 
aim  was  to  awaken  a  passion  in  his  bosom  that  might 
.turn  out  to  her  advantage  ;  and  in  this  aim  she  was  but 
too  successful,  for  before  the  voyage  was  finished,  the 
infatuated  Colonel  gave  her  from  under  his  hand  a 
promise  of  marriage  on  their  arrival  at  New  York,  un 
der  forfeiture  of  tive  thousand  pounds. 

And  how  did  our  poor  Charlotte  pass  her  time  during 
a  tedious  and  tempestuous  passage  ]  Naturally  delicate, 
the  fatigue  and  sickness  which  she  endured,  rendered 
her  so  weak  as  to  be  almost  entirely  confined  to  her 
bed :  yet  the  kindness  and  attention  of  Montraville  in 
some  measure  contributed  to  alleviate  her  sufferings, 
and  the  hope  of  hearing  from  her  friends  soon  after  her 
arrival,  kept  up  her  spirits,  and  cheered  many  a  gloomy 
Dight. 

But  during  the  voyage  a  grert  revolution  took  place, 
not  only  in  the  fortune  of  La  Rue,  but  in  the  bosom  of 
Belcour :  whilst  in  pursuit  of  his  amour  with  Mademoi 
selle,  he  had  attended  little  to  the  interesting,  unobtru 
sive  charms  of  Charlotte;  but  when,  cloyed  by  posses- 
gion,  and  disgusted  with  the  art  and  dissimulations  of  the 
one,  he  beheld  the  simplicity  and  gentleness  of  the 
other,  the  contrast  became  too  striking,  not  to  fill  him 
at  once  with  surprise  and  admiration.  He  frequently 
(conversed  with  Charlotte  ;  he  found  her  sensible,  well 
informed,  but  diffident  and  unassuming.  The  languor 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  59 

which  the  fatigue  of  her  body  and  perturbation  of  her 
mind  spread  over  her  delicate  features,  served  only,  in 
his  opinion,  to  render  her  more  lovely :  he  knew  that 
Montraville  did  not  design  to  marry  her,  and  he  formed 
a  resolution  to  endeavor  to  gain  her  himself,  whenever 
Montraville  should  leave  her. 

Let  not  the  reader  imagine  Belcour's  designs  were 
honorable.  Alas!  when  once  a  woman  has  forgot  the 
respect  due  to  herself,  by  yielding  to  the  solicitations 
of  illicit  love,  she  loses  all  her  consequence,  even  in 
the  eyes  of  the  man  whose  art  has  betrayed  her,  and 
for  whose  sake  she  has  sacrificed  every  valuable  con 
sideration. 

The  heedless  fair,  who  stoops  to  guilty  joys, 
A  man  may  pity but  he  must  despise. 

Nay,  every  libertine  will  think  he  has  a  right  to 
insult  her  with  his  licentious  passion ;  and  should  the 
unhappy  creature  shrink  from  the  insolent  overture,  he 
will  feneeringly  taunt  her  with  pretence  of  modesty. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A    WEDDING. 

ON  the  day  before  their  arrival  at  New  York,  after 
dinner,  Crayton  arose  from  his  seat,  and  placing  him 
self  by  Mademoiselle,  thus  addressed  the  company : 

"  As  we  have  now  nearly  arrived  at  our  destined 
port,  I  think  it  but  my  duty  to  inform  you,  my  friends, 
that  this  lady,"  (taking  her  hand,)  "  has  placed  herself 
under  my  protection.  I  have  seen  and  severely  felt 
the  anguish  of  her  heart,  and  through  every  shade 
which  cruelty  or  malice  may  throw  over  her,  can  dis 
cover  the  most  amiable  qualities.  I  thought  it  but 


60  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

necessary  to  mention  my  esteem  for  her  before  our  dis 
embarkation,  as  it  is  my  fixed  resolution  the  morning 
after  we  land,  to  give  her  an  undoubted  title  to  my 
favor  and  protection  by  honorably  uniting  my  fate  to 
hers.  I  would  wish  every  gentleman  here,  therefore, 
to  remember  that  her  honor  henceforth  is  mine ;  and," 
continued  he,  looking  at  Belcour,  "  should  any  man 
presume  to  speak  in  the  least  disrespectfully  of  her,  I 
shall  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  him  a  scoundrel." 

Belcour  cast  at  him  a  smile  of  contempt,  and  bowing 
profoundly  low,  wished  Mademoiselle  much  joy  in  the 
proposed  union ;  and  assuring  the  colonel  that  he  need 
not  be  in  the  least  apprehensive  of  any  one  throwing 
the  least  odium  on  the  character  of  his  lady,  shook  him 
by  the  hand  with  ridiculous  gravity,  and  left  the  cabin. 

The  truth  was,  he  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  La  Rue,  and 
so  he  was  but  freed  from  her,  he  cared  not  who  fell  a 
victim  to  her  infamous  arts. 

The  inexperienced  Charlotte  was  astonished  at  what 
•she  heard.  She  thought  La  Rue  had,  like  herself,  only 
been  urged  by  the  force  of  her  attachment  to  Belcour, 
to  quit  her  friends,  and  follow  him  to  the  seat  of  war : 
how  wonderful  then,  that  she  should  resolve  to  marry 
another  man  !  It  was  certainly  extremely  wrong.  It 
was  indelicate.  She  mentioned  her  thoughts  to  Mon- 
traville.  He  laughed  at  her  simplicity,  called  her  a 
little  idiot,  and  patting  her  on  the  cheek,  said  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  world.  "  If  the  world  sanctions  such 
things,  'tis  a  very  bad  world,  I  think,"  said  Charlotte. 
"Why  I  always  understood  that  they  were  to  have 
been  married  when  they  arrived  at  New  York.  I  am 
sure  Mademoiselle  told  me  Belcour  promised  to  marry 
her." 

'  Well,  and  suppose  he  did  V' 

"  Why,  he  should  be  obliged  to  keep  his  word,  I  think." 

"  Well,  but  I  suppose  he  has  changed  his  mind,"  said 
Montraville,  "  and  then  you  know  the  case  is  altered." 

Charlotte  looked  at  him  attentively  for  a  moment. 
A  full  sense  of  her  own  situation  rushed  ttpon  her  mind. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  61 

She  burst  into  tears  and  remained  silent — Montraville 
too  well  understood  the  cause  of  her  tears.  He  kissed 
her  cheek,  and  bidding  her  not  to  make  herself  uneasy, 
unable  to  bear  the  silent  but  keen  remonstrance,  hasi.il y 
left  her. 

The  next  morning-  by  sunrise  they  found  themselves 
at  anchor  before  the  city  of  New  York.  A  boat  was 
ordered  to  convey  the  ladies  on  shore. — Crayton  accom 
panied  them ;  and  they  were  shown  to  a  house  of  public 
entertainment.  Scarcely  were  they  seated  when  the 
door  opened,  and  the  Colonel  found  himself  in  the  arms 
of  his  daughter,  who  had  landed  a  few  minutes  before 
him.  The  first  transport  of  meeting  subsided,  Crayton 
introduced  his  daughter  to  Mademoiselle  La  Rue,  as  aij 
old  friend  of  her  mother's  (for  the  artful  French  woman 
had  really  made  it  appear  to  the  credulous  Colonel  that 
she  was  in  the  same  convent  with  his  first  wife,  and 
though  much  younger,  had  received  many  tokens  of 
her  esteem  and  regard.) 

"If,  Mademoiselle,"  said  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  "you 
were  the  friend  of  rny  mother,  you  must  be  worthy  tha 
esteem  of  all  good  hearts." 

"Mademoiselle  will  soon  honor  our  family,"  said 
Crayton,  "  by  supplying  the  place  that  valuable  woman 
filled;  and  as  you  are  married,  my  dear,  I  think  you 
will  not  blame " 

"  Hush,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Beauchamp  :  "  I 
know  my  duty  too  well  to  scrutinize  your  conduct.  Be 
assured,  my  dear  father,  your  happiness  is  mine.  I 
shall  rejoice  in  it,  and  sincerely  love  the  person  who 
contributes  to  it.  But  tell  me,"  continued  she,  turning 
to  Charlotte,  "  who  is  this  lovely  girl  1  Is  she  your 
sister,  Mademoiselle  ?" 

A  blush,  deep  as  the  glow  of  the  carnation,  suffused 
the  cheeks  of  Charlotte. 

"It   is  a  young  lady,"   replied   the  Colonel,  "who 
came  in  the  same  vessel  with  us  from  England."     He 
then  drew  his  daughter  aside,  and  told  her  in  a  whis 
per,  that  Charlotte  was  the  mistress  of  Montraville. 
6 


62  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

"  What  a  pity  !"  said  Mrs.  Beauchamp  softly,  (cask 
ing  a  most  compassionate  glance  at  her.)  "  But  surely 
her  mind  is  not  depraved.  The  goodness  of  her  heart 
is  depicted  in  her  ingenuous  countenance." 

Charlotte  caught  the  word  pity.  "And  am  I  already 
fallen  so  lowl"  said  she.  A  sigh  escaped  her,  and  a 
tear  was  ready  to  start,  but  Montraville  appeared,  and 
she  checked  the  rising  emotion.  Mademoiselle  went 
with  the  Colonel  and  his  daughter  to  another  apart 
ment.  Charlotte  remained  with  Montraville  and  Bel- 
cour.  The  next  morning  the  Colonel  performed  his 
promise,  and  La  Rue  became  in  due  form  Mrs.  Crayton, 
exulted  in  her  good  fortune,  and  dared  to  look  with  an 
eye  of  contempt  on  the  unfortunate,  but  far  less  guilty, 
Charlotte. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

REFLECTIONS. 

"AND  am  I  indeed  fallen  so  low,"  said  Charlotte, 
"  as  to  be  only  pitied  ]  Will  the  voice  of  approbation 
no  more  meet  my  ear?  and  shall  I  never  again  possess 
a  friend,  whose  face  will  wear  a  smile  of  joy,  whenever 
I  approach  ]  Alas  how  thoughtless,  how  dreadfully 
imprudent  have  I  been !  I  know  not  which  is  most 
painful  to  endure,  the  sneer  of  contempt,  or  the  glance 
of  compassion  which  is  depicted  on  the  various  counte 
nances  of  my  own  sex:  they  are  both  equally  humilia 
ting.  Ah !  my  dear  parents,  could  you  now  see  the* 
child  of  your  affections,  the  daughter  whom  you  so  dear 
ly  loved,  a  poor  solitary  being,  without  society,  here 
wearing  out  her  heavy  hours  in  deep  regret  and  an 
guish  of  heart,  no  kind  friend  of  her  own  sex  to  whom 
fhe  can  unbosom  her  griefs,  no  beloved  mother,  no  wo- 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  03 

man  of  character  to  appear  in  her  company  ;  and,  low 
as  your  Charlotte  is  fallen,  she  cannot  associate  witk 
infamy." 

These  were  the  painful  reflections  which  occupied 
the  mind  of  Charlotte.  Montraville  had  placed  her  in 
a  small  house  a  few  miles  from  New  York :  he  gave 
her  one  female  attendant,  and  supplied  her  with  what 
money  she  wanted  ;  but  business  and  pleasure  so  en 
tirely  occupied  his  time,  that  he  had  but  little  to  devote 
to  the  woman  whom  he  had  brought  from  all  her  con 
nexions,  and  robbed  of  innocence.  Sometimes,  indeed, 
he  would  steal  out  at  the  close  of  the  evening,  and  pass 
a  few  hours  with  her ;  and  then  so  much  was  she  at 
tached  to  him,  that  all  her  sorrows  were  forgotten  while 
blessed  with  his  society :  she  would  enjoy  a  walk  by 
moonlight,  or  sit  by  him  in  a  little  arbor  in  the  bottom 
of  the  garden,  and  play  on  the  harp,  accompanying  it 
with  her  plaintive  harmonious  voice.  But  often,  very 
often,  did  he  promise  to  renew  his  visits,  and,  forgetful 
of  his  promise,  leave  her  to  mourn  her  disappointment. 
What  painful  hours  of  expectation  would  she  pass  !  she 
would  sit  at  a  window  which  looked  toward  a  field  he 
used  to  cross,  counting  the  minutes  and  straining  her 
eyes  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  his  person,  till  blinded 
with  tears  of  disappointment,  she  would  lean  her  head 
on  her  hands,  and  give  free  vent  to  her  sorrows :  then 
catching  at  some  new  hope,  she  would  again  renew  her 
watchful  position,  till  the  shades  of  evening  enveloped 
every  object  in  a  dusky  cloud :  she  would  then  renew 
her  complaints,  and  with  a  heart  bursting  with  disap 
pointed  love  and  wounded  sensibility,  retire  to  a  bod 
which  remorse  had  strewed  with  thorns,  and  court  in 
vain  that  comforter  of  weary  nature  (who  seldom  visits 
tiie  unhappy)  to  come  and  steep  her  senses  in  oblivion. 

Who  can  form  an  adequate  idea  of  the  sorrow  that 
preyed  upon  the  mind  of  Charlotte  1  The  wife  whose 
breast  glows  with  affection  for  her  husband,  and  who  in 
return  meets  only  indiiference,  can  but  faintly  conceive 
her  anguish.  Dreadfully  painful  is  the  situation  of  such 


64  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

a  woman  ;  but  she  has  many  comforts  of  which  our 
poor  Charlotte  was  deprived.  The  duteous,  faithful 
wire,  though  treated  with  indifference,  has  one  solid 
pleasure  within  her  own  bosom :  she  can  reflect  that 
she  has  not  deserved  neglect — that  she  has  ever  ful-\ 
filled  the  duties  of  her  station  with  the  strictest  exact-1 
ness;  she  may  hope,  that  by  constant  assiduity  and^ 
unrernitted  attention,  to  recall  her  wanderer,  and  be 
doubly  happy  in  his  returning  affection ;  she  knows  he 
cannot  leave  her  to  unite  himself  to  another:  he  cannot 
cast  her  out  to  poverty  and  contempt.  She  looks  around 
her  and  sees  the  smile  of  friendly  welcome,  or  the  tear 
of  affectionate  consolation,  on  the  face  of  every  person 
whom  she  favors  with  her  esteem ;  and  from  all  these 
circumstances  she  gathers  comfort ;  but  the  poor  girl, 
by  thoughtless  passion  led  astray,  who  in  parting  with 
honor,  has  forfeited  the  esteem  of  the  very  man  to  whom 
she  has  sacrificed  every  thing  dear  and  valuable  in 
life,  feels  his  indifference  to  be  the  fruit  of  her  own 
folly,  and  laments  the  want  of  power  to  recall  his  lost 
affection :  she  knows  that  there  is  no  tie  but  honor,  and 
that,  in  a  man  who  has  been  guilty  of  seduction,  is  but 
very  feeble ;  he  may  leave  her  in  a  moment  to  sham-e 
and  want ;  he  may  marry  and  forsake  her  forever ;  and 
should  he  do  so,  she  has  no  redress,  no  friendly  soothing 
companion  to  pour  into  her  wounded  mind  the  balm  of 
consolation,  no  benevolent  hand  to  lead  her  back  to  the, 
path  of  rectitude ;  she  has  disgraced  her  friends,  for 
feited  the  good  opinion  of  the  world,  and  undone  her 
self.  She  feels  herself  a  poor  solitary  being  in  the 
midst  of  surrounding  multitudes :  shame  bows  her  to 
the  earth,  remorse  tears  her  distracted  mind,  and  guilt, 
poverty  and  disease  close  the  dreadful  scene  ;  she  sinks 
unnoticed  to  oblivion.  The  finger  of  con-tempt  may 
point  out,  to  some  passing  daughter  of  youthful  mirth, 
the  humble  bed  where  lies  this  frail  sister  of  mortality : 
and  will  she  in  the  unbounded  gaiety  of  her  heart,  ex 
ult  in  her  own  unblemished  fame,  and  triumph  over  the 
silent  ashes  @f  the  dead  ?  Oh  no !  she  has  a  heart  of 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE.  65 

sensibility,  she  will  stop,  and  thus  address  the  unhappy 
victim  of  folly : — 

"  Thou  hast  ay  faults ;  but  surely  thy  sufferings 
have  expiated  them :  thy  errors  brought  thee  to  an 
early  grave;  but  thou  wert  a  fellow  creature — thou 
hast  been  unhappy — then  be  those  errors  forgotten." 

Then,  as  she  stoops  to  pluck  the  noxious  weed  from 
ffthe  sod,  a  tear  will  fall  and  consecrate  the  spot  to 
Charity. 

Forever  honored  be  the  sacred  drop  of  humanity : 
the  angel  of  mercy  shall  record  its  source,  and  the  soul 
from  whence  it  sprang  shall  be  immortal. 

My  dear  madam,  contract  not  your  brow  into  a  frown 
of  disapprobation.  I  mean  not  to  extenuate  the  faults 
of  those  unhappy  women  who  fall  victims  to  guilt  and 
folly  ;  but  surely  when  we  reflect  how  many  errors  we 
ourselves  are  subject  to,  how  many  secret  faults  lie  hid 
in  the  recesses  of  our  hearts,  which  we  would  blush  to 
have  brought  into  open  day  (and  yet  those  faults  require 
the  lenity  and  pity  of  a  benevolent  judge,  or  awful 
would  be  our  prospect  of  futurity)  I  say,  my  dear 
madam,  when  we  consider  this,  we  surely  may  pity  the 
faults  of  others. 

Believe  me,  many  an  unfortunate  female,  who  has 
once  strayed  into  the  thorny  paths  of  vice,  would  gladly 
return  to  virtue,  was  any  generous  friend  to  endeavor 
to  raise  and  re-assure  her;  but  alas  Tit  cannot  be,  you 
say ;  the  world  would  deride  and  scoff.  Then  let  me 
tell  you,  madam,  it  is  a  very  unfeeling  world,  and  does 
not  deserve  half  the  blessings  which  a  bountiful  Provi 
dence  showers  upon  it. 

Oh,  thou  benevolent  giver  of  all  good !  how  shall  we, 
erring  mortals,  dare  to  look  up  to  thy  mercy  in  the 
great  day  of  retribution,  if  we  now  uncharitably  refuse 
to  overlook  the  errors,  or  alleviate  the  miseries  of  our 
fellow  creatures. 


06  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  MISTAKE    DISCOVERED. 

JFLIA  FRANKLIN  was  the  only  child  of  a  man  of  large 
property,  who  left  her  independent  mistress  of  an  unin- 
cumbered  income  of  seven  hundred  a  year,  at  the  age 
of  eighteen ;  she  was  a  girl  of  lively  disposition,  and 
humane  susceptible  heart:  she  resided  in  New  York 
with  an  uncle,  who  loved  her  too  well,  and  had  too  high 
an  opinion  of  her  prudence,  to  scrutinize  her  actions  so 
much  as  would  have  been  necessary  with  many  young- 
ladies,  who  were  not  blest  with  her  discretion  :  she  was[ 
at  the  time  Montraville  arrived  at  New  York,  the  lifel| 
of  society,  and  the  universal  toast.  Montraville  was 
introduced  to  her  by  the  following  accident: — 

One  night  when  he  was  upon  guard  a  dreadful  fire 
broke  out  near  Mr.  Franklin's  house,  which  in  a  few 
hours  reduced  that  and  several  others  to  ashes ;  fortu 
nately  no  lives  were  lost,  and  by  the  assiduity  of  the 
soldiers  much  valuable  property  was  saved  from  the 
flames.  In  the  midst  of  the  confusion,  an  old  gentle 
man  came  up  to  Montraville,  and  putting  a  small  box 
into  his  hands,  cried — "  Keep  it,  my  good  Sir,  till  I 
come  to  you  again;"  and  then  rushing  again  into  the 
thickest  of  the  crowd,  Montraville  saw  him  no  more. 
He  waited  till  the  fire  was  quite  extinguished,  and  the 
mob  dispersed  ;  but  in  vain :  the  old  gentleman  did  not 
appear  to  claim  his  property  ;  and  Montraville  fearing 
to  make  an  inquiry,  ItBt  he  should  meet  with  impostors 
who  might  lay  clain?  without  any  legal  right,  to  th 
box,  carried  it  to  his  lodgings,  and  locked  it  up :  h 
naturally  imagined  that  the  person  who  committea 
it  to  his  care,  knew  him,  and  would  in  a  day  or  two, 
/eclaim  it ;  but  several  weeks  passed  on,  and  no  en 
quiry  being  made,  he  began  to  be  uneasy,  aud  resolved 
te  examine  the  contents  of  the  bo*,  and  if  thsy  were, 


CHVRLOTTE   TEMPLE.  67 

as  he  supposed,  valuable,  to  spare  no  pains  to  discover 
the  owner,  and  restore  them  to  him.  Upon  opening-  it, 
he  found  it  contained  jewels  to  a  large  amount,  about 
two  hundred  pounds  in  money,  and  a  miniature  picture 
set  for  a  bracelet.  On  examining  the  picture,  he  thought 
he  had  some  where  seen  features  very  like  it,  but  could 
not  recollect  where.  A  few  days  after,  being  at  a  pub 
lic  assembly,  he  saw  Miss  Franklin,  and  the  likeness 
was  too  evident  to  be  mistaken :  he  inquired  among  his 
brother  officers  if  any  of  them  knew  her,  and  found  one 
who  was  upon  terms  of  intimacy  with  the  family:  "then 
introduce  me  to  her  immediately,"  said  he,  "  for  I  am 
certain  I  can  inform  her  of  something  which  will  give 
her  peculiar  pleasure." 

He  was  immediately  introduced,  found  she  was  the 
owner  of  the  jewels,  and  was  invited  to  breakfast  the 
next  morning-,  in  order  to  their  restoration.  This  whole 
evening,  Montraville  was  honored  with  Julia's  hand ; 
the  lively  sallies  of  her  wit,  the  elegance  of  her  manner, 
powerfully  charmed  him  ;  he  forgot  Charlotte,  and  in 
dulged  himself  in  saying  every  thing  that  was  polite 
and  tender  to  Julia.  But  on  retiring  recollection  re 
turned — "  What  am  I  about  1"  said  he,  "  though  I  can 
not  marry  Charlotte,  I  cannot  be  villain  enough  to 
forsake  her,  nor  must  I  dare  to  trifle  with  the  heart  of 
Julia  Franklin.  I  will  return  this  box,"  said  he, 
"  which  has  been  the  source  of  so  much  uneasiness 
already,  and  in  the  evening  pay  a  visit  to  my  poor 
melancholy  Charlotte,  and  endeavor  to  forget  this  fas 
cinating  Julia." 

He  arose,  dressed  himself,  and  taking  the  picture 
out,  "  I  will  reserve  this  from  the  rest,"  said  he,  "  and 
by  presenting  it  to  her  when  she  thinks  it  is  lost,  en 
hance  the  value  of  the  obligation."  He  repaired  to  Mr. 
Franklin's  and  found  Julia  in  the  breakfast  parlor  alone. 

"How  happy  am  I,  Madam,"  said  he,  "that  being 
the  fortunate  instrument  of  saving  these  jewels,  has 
been  the  means  of  procuring  me  the  acquaintance  of 
so  amiable  a  lady.  There  are  the  jewels  and  money 
all  safe." 


OS  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

"But  where  is  the  picture,  sir?"  said  Julia. 
"Here,  Madam,  I  would  not  willingly  part  with  it." 
"  It  is  the  portrait  of  my  mother,"  said  she,  taking  it 
from  him  :  "'tis  all  that  remains?'      She  pressed  it"  to 
Jier  lips,  and  a  tear  tremhled  in  her  eyes.    Montraville 
glanced  his  eyes  on   her  grey  night  gown  and  black 
libbon,  and  his  own  feelings.prevented  a  reply. 

Julia  Franklin  was  the  very  reverse  of  Charlotte 
Temple:  she  was  tall,  elegantly  shaped,  and  possessed 
much  of  the  air  and  manner  of  a  woman  of  fashion ; 
her  complexion  was  a  clear  brown,  enlivened  with  the 
glow  of  health  ;  her  eyes,  full,  black,  and  sparkling, 
darted  their  intelligent  glances  through  long  silken 
lashes;  her  hair  was  shining  brown,  and  her  features 
regular  and  striking ;  there  was  an  air  of  innocent 
gaiety  that  played  about  her  countenance,  where  good 
humor  sat  triumphant. 

"  I  have  been  mistaken,"  said  Montraville,  "  I  im 
agined  I  loved  Charlotte ;  but  alas !  I  am  too  late  con 
vinced  my  attachment  to  her  was  merely  the  impulse 
of  the  moment.  I  fear  I  have  not  only  entailed  lasting 
misery  on  that  poor  girl,  but  also  thrown  a  barrier  in  the 
way  of  my  own  happiness,  which  it  will  be  impossible 
to  surmount.  I  feel  I  love  Julia  Franklin,  with  ardor 
and  sincerity;  yet  when  in  her  presence,  I  am  sensible; 
of  my  own  inability  to  offer  a  heart  worthy  her  accep 
tance  and  remain  silent." 

Full  of  these  painful  thoughts,  Montraville  walked 
out  to  see  Charlotte :  she  saw  him  approach,  and  ran 
out  to  meet  him;  she  banished  from  her  countenance 
the  air  of  discontent  which  ever  appeared  when  he  was 
absent,  and  met  him  with  a  smile  of  joy. 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgot  me,  Montraville,"  said  she, 
'and  was  very  unhappy." 

"I  shall  never  forget  you,  Charlotte,"  he  replied, 
pressing  her  hand. 

The  uncommon  gravity  of  his  countenance,  and  the 
brevity  of  his  reply,  alarmed  her. 

"  You  are  not  well,"  said  she;  "your  hand  is  hot;] 
lour  eyes  are  heavy ;  you  are  very  ill." 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  69 

"  I  am  a  villain,"  said  he,  mentally,  as  he  turned 
from  her  to  hide  his  emotions. 

"But  come,"  continued  she,  tenderly,  "you  shall  go 
to  bed,  and  I  will  set  by  and  watch  you  ;  you  will  be 
better  when  you  have  slept." 

Montraville  was  glad  to  retire,  and  by  pretending 
sleep,  concealed  the  agitation  of  his  mind  from  her  pen 
etrating  eye.  Charlotte  watched  by  him  till  a  late  hour, 
and  then  laying  softly  down  by  his  side,  sunk  into  a 
profound  sleep,  from  which  she  awoke  not  till  late  the 
next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Virtue  never  appears  so  amiable  as  when  reaching  forth 
her  hand  to  raise  a  fallen  sister. — CHAPTER  OF  ACCIDENTS. 

WHEN  Charlotte  awoke,  she  missed  Montraville;  but 
Chinking  he  might  have  arisen  early  to  enjoy  the  beau 
ties  of  the  morning,  she  was  preparing  to  follow  him, 
when  casting  her  eye  on  the  table,  she  saw  a  note,  and 
opening  it  hastily,  found  these  words : — 

"  My  dear  Charlotte  must  not  be  surprised  if  she 
does  not  see  me  again  for  some  time :  unavoidable  busi 
ness  will  prevent  me  the  pleasure:  be  assured  I  am 
quite  well  this  morning ;  and  what  your  fond  imagina 
tion  magnified  into  illness,  was  nothing  more  "than 
fatigue,  which  a  few  hours  rest  has  entirely  removed. 
Make  yourself  happy,  and  be  certain  of  the  unalterable 
friendship  of  MONTRAVILLE." 

"  Friendship  /"  said  Charlotte  emphatically,  as  she 
finished  the   note,   "  is  it  come  to  this  at  last  ]     Alas 
poor  forsaken  Charlotte  !  thy  doom  is  now  but  too  ap 
parent.      Montraville  is  no  longer  interested  in  thy 


70  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

happiness;  and  shame,  remorse,  and  disappointed  love 
will  henceforth  be  thy  only  attendants." 

Though  these  were  the  ideas  that  involuntarily  rushed 
upon  the  mind  of  Charlotte  as  she  perused  the  fatal 
note,  yet  after  a  few  hours  had  elapsed,  the  syren  hope 
again  took  possession  of  her  bosom,  and  she  flattered 
herself  she  could,  on  the  second  perusal,  discover  an 
air  of  tenderness  in  the  few  lines  he  had  left,  which 
had  at  first  escaped  her  notice.  "He  certainly  cannot 
be  so  base  as  to  leave  me,"  said  she;  "and  in  styling 
himself  my  friend,  does  he  not  promise  to  protect  me  ? 
» I  will  nut  torment  myself  with  these  causeless  fears  ;  I 
will  place  a  confidence  in  his  honor,  and  sure  he  will 
;  not  be  so  unjust  as  to  abuse  it." 

llust  as  she  had,  by  this  manner  of  reasoning,  brought 
her  mind  to  some  tolerable  degree  of  composure,  she 
was  surprised  by  a  visit  from^Belcour.  The  dejection 
visible  in  Charlotte's  countenance,  her  swollen  eyes 
and  neglected  attire,  at  once  told  him  she  was  unhappy: 
he  made  no  doubt  Montraville  had,  by  his  coldness, 
4  alarmed  her  suspicions,  and  was  resolved,  if  possible, 
to  rouse  her  to  jealousy,  urge  her  to  reproach  him, 
and  by  that  means  occasion  a  breach  between  them. 
"  If  I  can  once  convince  her  that  she  has  a  rival,"  said 
he,  "  she  will  listen  to  my  passion,  if  it  is  O'ily  to  re 
venge  his  slights."  Belcour  knew  but  littie  of  the 
female  heart;  and  what  he  did  know,  was  only  of  those 
of  loose  and  dissolute  lives.  He  had  no  idea,  that  a 
woman  might  fall  a  victim  to  imprudence,  and  yet 
retain  so  strong  a  sense  of  honor,  as  to  reject  with  hor 
ror  and  contempt  every  solicitation  to  a  second  fault, 
He  never  imagined  that  a  gentle,  generous  female 
heart,  once  tenderly  attached,  when  treated  with  un- 
kindness,  might  break,  but  would  never  harbor  a  thought 
of  revenge. 

His  visit  was  not  long,  but  before  he  went,  he  iixed 
a  scorpion  in  the  heart,  of  Charlotte,  whose  venom  em 
bittered  every  future  hour  of  her  life. 

We  will  now  return  for  a  moment  to  Colonel  Cray 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  71 

ton.  He  had  been  three  months  married,  and  in  that 
little  time  had  discovered  that  the  conduct  of  his  lady 
was  not  so  prudent  as  it  ought  to  have  been;  but  re- 
monstance  was  in  vain ;  her  temper  was  violent,  and 
to  the  colonel's  great  misfortune  he  had  conceived  a 
sincere  affection  for  her ;  she  saw  her  own  power,  and 
with  the  art  of  a  Circe,  made  every  action  appear  to 
him  in  what  light  she  pleased  :  his  acquaintance  laugh 
ed  at  his  blindness,  his  friends  pitied  his  infatuation, 
his  amiable  daughter,  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  in  secret  de 
plored  the  loss  of  her  father's  affection,  and  grieved 
that  he  should  be  so  entirely  swayed  by  an  artful,  and, 
she  much  feared,  infamous  woman. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  mild  and  engaging ;  she  loved 
not  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  a  city,  and  had  prevailed  on 
her  husband  to  take  a  house  a  few  miles  from  New 
York.  ^Chance  led  her  into  the  same  neighborhood 
with  Charlotte  :  their  houses  stood  within  a  short  space 
of  each  other,  and  their  gardens  joined :  she  had  not 
been  long  in  her  new  habitation  before  the  figure  of 
Chartotte  struck  her,  she  recollected  her  interesting 
features ;  she  saw  the  melancholy  so  conspicuous  in 
her  countenance,  and  her  heart  bled  at  reflection,  that 
perhaps  deprived  of  honor,  friends,  and  all  that  was 
valuable  in  this  life,  she  was  doomed  to  linger  out  a 
wretched  existence  in  a  strange  land,  and  sink  broken 
hearted  into  an  untimely  grave.-—"  Would  to  heaven  1  V 
could  snatch  her  from  so  hard  a  fate,"  said  she :  "  but 
the  merciless  world  has  barred  the  doors  of  compassion 
against  a  poor  weak  girl,  who,  perhaps,  had  she  one 
kind  friend  to  raise  and  re-assure  her,  would  gladly 
return  to  peace  and  virtue.  Nay,  even  the  woman  who 
dares  to  pity,  and  endeavor  to  recall  a  wandering  sister, 
incurs  the  sneer  of  contempt  and  ridicule,  for  an  action 
in  which  even  angels  are  said  to  rejoice." 

The  longer  Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  a  witness  to  the 
solitary  life  Charlotte  led,  the  more  she  wished  to  speak 
to  her ;  and  often  as  she  saw  her  cheeks  wet  witk 
tears  of  anguish,  she  would  say — "  dear  sufferer,  how 


72  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

gladly  would  I  pour  into  your  heart  the  balm  of  conso 
lation,  were  it  not  for  the  fear  of  derision."^ 

But  an  accident  soon  happened,  which  made  her  re 
solve  to  brave  even  the  scoffs  of  the  work^  rather  than 
not  to  enjoy  the  heavenly  satisfaction  of  comforting  a 
desponding  fellow  creature. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  an  early  riser.  She  was  one 
morning  walking  in  the  garden,  leaning  on  her  hus 
band's  arm,  when  the  sound  of  a  harp  attracted  their 
notice :  they  listened  attentively,  and  heard  a  soft  rue- 
lodwis  voice  distinctly  sing  the  following  stanzas: 

Thou  glorious  orb,  supremely  bright, 

Just  rising  from  the  sea, 
To  cneer  all  nature  with  thy  light, 

What  are  thy  beams  to  me  ? 

In  vain  thy  glories  bid  me  rise, 

To  hail  the  new-born  day  ; 
Alas  !  my  morning  sacrifice 

Is  still  to  weep  and  pray. 

For  what  are  nature's  charms  combin'd, 

To  one,  whose  weary  breast 
Can  neither  peace  nor  comfort  find, 

Nor  friend  whereon  to  rest  ? 

Oh,  never  !  never!  whilst  I  live 

Can  my  heart's  anguish  cease: 
Come,  friendly  death,  thy  mandate«give, 

And  let  me  be  at  peace. 

"Tis  poor  Charlotte!"  said  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  the 
pellucid  drop  of  humanity  stealing  down  her  cheek. 

Major  Beauchamp  was  alarmed  at  her  emotion — 
"  What  Charlotte  1"  said  he  :  "  Do  you  know  her  ?" 

In  the  accent  of  a  pitying  angel  did  she  disclose  to 
her  husband  Charlotte's  unhappy  situation,  and  the  fre 
quent  wish  she  had  formed  of  being  serviceable  to  her. 
"  I  fear,"  continued  she,  "  the  poor  girl  has  been  basely- 
betrayed  ;  and  if  I  thought  you  would  not  blame  me,  I 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  73 

pay  her  a  visit,  offer  her  ray  friendship,  and  cn- 
or  to  restore  to  her  heart  that  peace  she  seems  to 
have  lost,  and  so  pathetically  laments.  Who  knows, 
my  dear,"  laying  her  hand  affectionately  on  his  arm, 
"  who  knows,  but  she  has  left  some  kind  affectionate 
parents  to  lament  her  errors,  and  would  she  return, 
they  might,  with  rapture  receive  the  poor  penitent,  and 
*vash  away  her  faults  in  tears  of  joy. — Oh  !  what  a  glo 
rious  reflection  would  it  be  for  rne,  could  I  be  the  happy 
instrument  of  restoring  her. — Her  heart  may  not  be 
depraved,  Beauchawp," 

"  Exalted  woman !"  cried  Beauchamp,  embracing 
her,  "  how  dost  thou  rise  every  moment  in  my  esteem  1 
Follow  the  impulse  of  thy  generous  heart,  my  Emily. 
Xet  prudes  and  fools  censure  if  they  dare,  and  blame  a 
sensibility  they  never  felt :  I  will  exultingly  tell  them 
that  the  truly  virtuous  heart  is  ever  inclined  to  pity 
and  forgive  the  errors  of  its  fellow  creatures." 

A  beam  of  exulting  joy  played  round  the  animated 
countenance  of  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  at  these  encomiums 
bestowed  on  her  by  a  beloved  husband ;  the  most  de 
lightful  sensations  pervaded  her  heart,  and,  havir^g 
breakfasted,  she  prepared  to  visit  Charlotte. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  BENEVOLENT  VISIT, 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe  ; 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see  : 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. — POPE. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  dressed,  she  began  U 
feel  embarrassed  at  the  thought  of  beginning  an  ac 
quaintance  with  Charlotte,  and  was  distressed  bow  to 
7 


74  CHARLOTTE    TBMPLB. 

make  the  first  visit.  "I  cannot  go  without  some  intro 
duction,"  said  she.  "It  will  look  like  impertinent 
curiosity."  At  length,  recollecting  herself,  she  stepped 
into  the  garden,  and  gathering  a  few  fine  cucumbers, 
took  them  in  her  hand  by  way  of  apology  for  her  visit. 

A  glow  of  conscious  shame  vermillioned  Charlotte's 
face  as  Mrs.  Beauchamp  entered. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  Madam,"  said  she,  "  for  not 
having  before  paid  my  respects  to. so  amiable  a  neighbor; 
but  we  English  people  always  keep  up  wherever  we  go, 
that  reserve  which  is  the  characteristic  of  our  nation. 
I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  bring  you  a  few  cucumbers; 
for  I  observed  you  had  none  in  your  garden." 

Charlotte,  though  naturally  polite  and  well  bred,  was 
so  confused  she  could  hardly  speak.  Her  kind  visitor 
endeavored  to  relieve  her  by  not  noticing  her  embar 
rassment.  "  I  am  come,  Madam,"  continued  she,  "  to 
request  you  to  spend  the  day  with  me.  I  shall  be  alone ; 
and  as  we  are  both  strangers  in  this  country,  we  may 
hereafter  be  extremely  happy  in  each  other's  friendship." 

"  Your  friendship,  Madam,"  said  Charlotte,  blushing, 
"  is  an  honor  to  all  who  are  favored  with  it.  Little  as 
I  have  seen  of  this  part  of  the  world,  I  am  no  stranger 
to  Mrs.  Beauchamp's  goodness  of  heart  and  known  hu 
manity:  but  my  friendship — ."  She  paused,  glanced 
her  eye  upon  her  own  visible  situation,  and,  in  spite  of 
her  endeavors  to  suppress  them,  burst  into  tears. 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  guessed  the  source  from  whence 
those  tears  flowed.  "You  seem  unhappy,  Madam," 
said  she :  "  shall  I  be  thought  worthy  of  your  cofidence  ] 
will  you  entrust  me  with  the  cause  of  your  sorrow, 
and  rest  on  my  assurances  to  exert  my  utmost  power 
to  serve  you!"  Charlotte  returned  a  look  of  gratitude, 
but  could  not  speak,  and  Mrs.  Beauchamp  continued — 
"My  heart  was  interested  in  your  behalf  the  first  mo 
ment  I  saw  you :  and  I  only  lament  I  had  not  made 
earlier  overtures  towards  an  acquaintance ;  but  I  flatter 
myself  you  will  henceforth  consider  me  as  your  friend." 
"  Oh,  Madam !"  cried  Charlotte,  "  I  have  forfeited 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  75 

the  good  opinion  of  all  my  friends ;  I  have  forsaken 
them,  and  undone  myself." 

"  Come,  come,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  "  you 
must  not  indulge  these  gloomy  thoughts  :  you  are  not, 
I  hope,  so  unhappy  as  you  imagine  yourself:  endeavor 
to  be  composed,  and  let  me  be  favored  with  your  com 
pany  at  dinner,  when,  if  you  can  bring  yourself  to 
think  me  your  friend,  and  repose  a  confidence  in  m^, 
I  am  ready  to  convince  you  that  it  shall  not  be  abused." 
She  then  arose  and  bade  her  good  morning. 

At  dining  hour,  Charlotte  repaired  to  Mrs.  Beau- 
champ's,  and  during  dinner  assumed  as  composed  an 
aspect  as  possible :  but  when  the  cloth  was  removed, 
she  summoned  all  her  resolution,  and  determined  to 
make  Mrs.  Beauchamp  acquainted  with  every  circum 
stance  preceding  her  elopement,  and  the  earnest  desire 
she  had  to  quit  a  way  of  life  so  repugnant  to  her  feelings. 

With  the  benignant  aspect  of  an  angel  of  mercy  did 
Mrs.  Beauchamp  listen  to  the  artless  tale ;  she  was 
shocked  to  the  soul  to  find  how  large  a  share  La  Rue 
had  in  the  seduction  of  this  amiable  girl,  and  a  tear  fell 
when  she  reflected  that  so  vile  a  woman  was  now  the 
jivife  of  her  father.  When  Charlotte  had  finished,  she 
gave  her  a  little  time  to  collect  her  scattered  spirits, 
and  then  asked  her  if  she  had  written  to  her  friends  ? 

"  Oh  yes,  Madam,"  said  she,  "  frequently ;  but  I 
have  broken  their  hearts,  they  are  all  either  dead,  or 
have  cast  me  off  forever,  for  I  have  never  received  a 
single  line  from  them." 

"  I  rather  suspect,"  said  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  "  they 
have  never  had  your  letters :  but  suppose  you  were  to 
hear  from  them,  and  they  were  willing  to  receive  you, 
would  you  then  leave  this  cruel  Montraville,  and  re 
turn  to  them?" 

"Would  If"  said  Charlotte,  clasping  her  hands: 
"  would  not  the  poor  sailor,  tost  on  a  tempestuous  ocean, 
and  threatened  every  moment  with  death,  gladly  re 
turn  to  the  shore  he  had  left,  than  trust  to  its  deceitful 
calmness  1  Oh,  my  dear  madam,  I  would  return,  though 


76  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

to  do  it  I  were  obliged  to  walk  barefooted,  and  beg  a 
scanty  pittance  of  each  traveller  to  support  my  exis 
tence.  I  would  endure  it  all  cheerfully,  could  I  but 
once  more  see  my  dear  blessed  mother,  hear  her  pro 
nounce  my  pardon,  and  bless  me  before  I  died ;  but 
aias  !  I  shall  never  see  her  more ;  she  has  blotted  the 
ungrateful  Charlotte  from  her  remembrance,  and  I  shall 
sink  to  the  grave  loaded  with  her's  and  my  father's 
curse." 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  endeavored  to  sooth  her.  "  You 
shall  write  to  them  again,"  said  she,  "  and  I  will  see 
that  the  letter  is  sent  by  the  first  packet  that  sails  for 
England ;  in  the  mean  time  keep  up  your  spirits,  and 
hope  for  every  thing,  by  daring  to  deserve  it." 

She  then  turned  the  conversation,  and  Charlotte 
having  taken  a  cup  of  tea,  wished  her  benevolent  friend 
a  good  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SORROWS  OF  THfc  HEART. 

WHEN  Charlotte  returned  home,  she  endeavored  to 
collect  her  thoughts,  and  took  up  a  pen  in  order  to  ad 
dress  those  dear  parents,  whom  spite  of  errors,  she  still 
loved  with  the  utmost  tenderness;  but  in  vain  was 
every  effort  to  write  with  the  least  coherence :  her 
tears  fell  so  fast  they  almost  blinded  her:  and  as  she 
proceeded  to  describe  her  unhappy  situation,  she  be 
came  so  agitated,  that  she  was  obliged  to  give  over  the 
attempt,  and  retire  to  bed,  where,  overcome  with  the 
fatigue  her  mind  had  undergone,  she  fell  into  a  slumber, 
which  greatly  refreshed  her.  She  arose  in  the  morn 
ing  with  spirits  more  adequate  to  the  painful  task  she 
had  to  perform,  and,  after  several  attempts,  at  length 
concluded  the  following  letter  to  her  mother *. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  •         77 

To  MRS.  TEMPLE. 

New  York. 

"Will  my  once  kind,  my  ever  beloved  mother,  deign 
to  receive  a  letter  from  her  guilty,  but  repentant  child  : 
or  lias  she,  justly  incensed  at  my  ingratitude,  driven 
the  unhappy  Charlotte  from  her  remembrance  I  Alas  ! 
shouldst  thou  even  disown  me,  I  dare  not  complain,  be 
cause  I  know  I  have  deserved  it;  but  yet,  believe  me, 
guilty  as  I  am,  and  cruelly  as  I  have  disappointed  the 
hopes  of  the  fondest  parents  that  ever  girl  had,  even  in 
the  moment  when,  forgetful  of  my  duty,  fled  from  you 
and  happiness,  tven  then  I  loved  you  most,  and  my 
heart  bled  at  the  thought  of  what  you  would  suffer. 
Oh  !  never,  never !  while  I  have  existence,  will  the 
agony  of  that  moment  be  erased  from  my  memory.  It 
seemed  like  the  separation  of  soul  from  body.  What 
can  I  plead  in  excuse  for  my  conduct1?  alas!  nothing! 
That  I  loved  my  seducer  is  but  too  true!  yet  powerful 
as  that  passion  is,  when  operating  in  a  young  heart 
glowing  with  sensibility,  it  never  would  have  conquered 
my  affection  to  you,  my  beloved  parents,  had  I  not  been 
encouraged,  nay,  urged  to  take  the  fatal  step  by  one  of 
my  own  sex,  who  under  the  mask  of  friendship,  drew 
me  on  to  ruin.  Yet  think  not  your  Charlotte  was  so 
lost  as  to  voluntarily  rush  into  a  life  of  infamy :  No, 
my  dear  mother,  deceived  by  the  specious  appearance 
of  my  betrayer,  and  every  suspicion  lulled  asleep  by  the 
most  solemn  promises  of  marriage,  I  thought  not  those 
promises  would  so  easily  be  forgotten.  I  never  once 
reflected  that  the  man  who  could  stoop  to  seduction, 
would  not  hesitate  to  forsake  the  wretched  object  of  his 
passion,  whenever  his  capricious  heart  grew  weary  of 
her  tenderness.  When  we  arrived  at  this  place,  I 
vainly  expected  him  to  fulfil  his  engagements;  but  was 
at  last  fatally  convinced  he  never  intended  to  make  me 
his  wife,  or  if  he  had  once  thought  of  it,  his  mind  was 
now  altered.  I  scorned  to  claim  from  his  humanity, 
what  I  could  not  obtain  from  his  love :  L  was  conscious 
,  of  having  forfeited  the  only  gem  that  could  render  me 


78  O'ARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

respectable  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  I  locked  my  sor* 
rows  in  rny  own  bosom,  and  bore  my  injuries  in  silence* 
But  how  shall  I  proceed  ]  This  man,  this  cruel  Mon- 
traville,  for  whom  I  sacrificed  honor,  happiness,  and  the 
love  of  my  friends,  no  longer  looks  on  me  with  affection, 
but  scorns  the  credulous  girl  whom  his  art  has  made 
miserable.  Could  you  see  me,  my  dear  parents,  with 
out  society,  without  friends,  stung  with  remorse,  and 
(I  feel  the  burning  blush  of  shame  dye  my  cheeks 
while  I  write  it)  tortured  with  the  pangs  of  disappointed 
love;  cut  to  the  soul  by  the  indifference  of  him,  who 
having  deprived  me  of  every  other  comfort,  no  longer 
.  thinks  it  worth  his  while  to  sooth  the  heart  where  he 
\hasplantedthethorn  >f  never  ceasing  regret.  My  daily 
[employment  is  to  thuik  of  you  and  weep,  to  pray  for 
lyour  happiness,  and  deplore  my  own  folly  :  my  nights 
are  scarce  more  happy  ;  for  if  by  chance  I  close  my 
weary  eyes,  and  hope  some  small  forgetfulness  of  sor 
row,  some  little  time  to  pass  in  sweet  oblivion,  fancy, 
still  waking,  wafts  me  home  to  you  :  I  see  your  beloved 
forms ;  I  kneel  and  hear  the  blessed  words  of  peace 
and  pardon.  Extatic  joy  pervades  my  soul;  I  reach  my 
arms  to  catch  the  dear  embraces ;  the  motion  chases 
the  illusive  dream;  I,  wa<e  to  real  misery.  At  other 
times  I  see  my  father  an^ry  and  Trowing,  point  to  hor 
rid  caves,  where  on  the  3old  damp  ground  in  the  ago 
nies  of  death,  I  see  my  lear  mother  and  my  reverend 
grandfather.  I  strive  to  raise  you ;  you  push  me  from 

you,  and   shrieking  cry "  Charlotte,  thou  hast  murj 

dered  me !"  Horror  and  despair  tear  every  tortured 
nerve ;  I  start  and  leave  my  restless  bed,  weary  and 
unrefreshed. 

"Shocking  as  these  reflections  are,  I  have  yet  on<7 
more  dreadful  than  the  rest.-  Mother,  my  dear  mother 
do  not  let  me  quite  break  your  heart  when  I  tell  you, 
in  a  few  months  I  shall  bring  into  the  world  an  inno 
cent  witness  of  my  guilt.  Oh  my  bleeding  heart!  I 
shall  bring  a  poor  little  helpless  creature,  heir  to  infamy 
and  shame. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  79 

"This  alone  has  urged  me  once  more  to  address  you, 
to  interest  you  in  behalf  of  this  poor  unborn,  and  beg 
you  to  extend  your  protection,  to  the  child  o  'your  lost 
Charlotte  :  for  my  ow  n  part,  I  have  wrote  $  a  often,  so 
frequently  have  pleaded  for  forgiveness,  and  entreated 
to  be  received  once  more  beneath  the  pat  arnal  roof, 
that  having  received  no  answer,  nor  even  one  line,  I 
much  fear  you  have  cast  me  from  you  forev3r. 

"But  sure  you  cannot  refuse  to  protect  my  innocent 
infant ;  it  partakes  not  of  its  mother's  guilt.  Oh  my 
father,  oh  my  beloved  mother,  now  do  I  feel  the  an 
guish  inflicted  on  your  hearts  recoiling  with  double 
force  on  my  own. 

"  If  my  child  should  be  a  girl  (which  heaven  forbid) 
tell  her  the  unhappy  fate  of  her  mother,  and  teach  her 
to  avoid  my  errors;  if  a  boy,  teach  him  to  lament  my 
miseries,  but  tell  him  not  who  inflicted  them,  lest,  in 
wishing  to  revenge  his  mother's  injuries,  h.9  should 
wound  the  peace  of  his  father. 

"  And  now,  dear  friends  of  my  soul,  kind  guardians 
of  my  infancy,  farewell.  I  feel  I  never  more  must  hope 
to  see  you ;  the  anguish  of  my  heart  strikes  at  the 
strings  of  life,  and  in  a  short  time  I  shall  be  at  rest. — 
Oh!  could  I  but  receive  your  blessing  and  forgiveness 
'.before  I  die,  it  would  smooth  my  passage  to  the  peace 
ful  grave,  and  be  a  blessed  foretaste  of  a  happy  eternity. 
I  beseech  you  curse  me  not,  my  adored  parents;  but 
let  a  tear  of  pity  and  pardon  fall  to  the  memory  of 
your  lost  CHARLOTTE." 


CHAPTER  XXI11. 

A  MAN  MAY    SMILE,  AND  SMILE,  AND  BE  A  VILLAIN. 

WHILE  Charlotte  was  enjoying  some  small  degree 
of  comfort  in  the  consoling  frieickhip  of  Mrs.  Beau- 


80  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

champ,  Mortraville  was  advancing  rapidly  in  his  affec 
tions  towards  Miss  Franklin.  Julia  was  an  amiable 
girl ;  she  saw  only  the  fair  side  of  his  character :  she 
possessed  an  independent  fortune,  and  resolved  to  be 
happy  with  the  man  of  her  heart,  though  his  rank  and 
fortune  were  by  no  means  so  exalted  as  she  had  a  right 
to  expect;  she  saw  the  passion  which  Montraville 
struggled  to  conceal !  she  wondered  at  hib  timidity,  but 
imagined  the  distance  fortune  had  placed  between  them 
occasioned  his  backwardness.  She,  therefore,  made 
every  advance  which  strict  prudence  and  a  becoming 
modesty  would  permit.  Montraville  saw  with  pleasure, 
he  was  not  indifferent  to  her;  but  a  spark  of  honor 
which  animated  his  bosom  would  not  suffer  him  to  take 
advantage  of  her  partiality.  He  was  well  acquainted 
with  Charlotte's  situation,  and  he  thought  there  would 
be  a  double  cruelty  in  forsaking  her  at  such  a  time: 
and  to  marry  Miss  Franklin,  while  honor,  humanity! 
every  sacred  law,  obliged  him  still  to  protect  and  sup4 
port  Charlotte,  was  a  baseness  at  which  his  soul  shud-1 
dered. 

He  communicated  his  uneasiness  to  Belcour :  it  was 
the  very  thing  his  pretended  friend  riad  wished.  "  And 
do  you  really,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  hesitate  at  marry 
ing  the  lovely  Julia,  and  becoming  master  of  her  for 
tune,  because  a  little  foolish,  fond  girl  chose  to  leave 
her  friends  and  run  away  with  you  to  America"?  Dear 
Montraville,  act  more  like  a  man  of  sense;  this  whining, 
pining  Charlotte,  who  occasions  you  so  much  uneasi 
ness,  would  have  eloped  with  somebody  else,  if  she  had 
not  with  you." 

"  Would  to  heaven,"  said  Montraville,  "I  had  never-' 
seen  her;  my  regard  fox  her  was  but  the  momentary 
passion  of  desire ;  but  I  feel  I  shall  love  and  revere 
Julia  Franklin  as  long  as  I  live:  yet  to  leave  poor 
Cliarlotte  in  her  present  situation,  would  be  cruel  be-    / 
yond  description." 

"  Oh,  my  good  sentimental  friend,"  said  Belcour,  "  do\ 
you  imagine  that  nobody  has  a  right  to  provide  for  the\ 
brat  but  yourself." 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  81 

Montraville  started.  "  Sure,"  said  he,  "  you  cannot 
mean  to  insinuate  that  Charlotte  is  false." 

"  I  don't  insinuate  it,"  said  Belcour,  "  I  know  it. 

Montraville  turned  pale  as  ashes.  "  Then  there  is 
no  faith  in  woman,"  said  he. 

"  While  I  thought  you  attached  to  her,"  said  Belcour, 
with  an  air  of  indifference,  "  I  never  wished  to  make 
you  uneasy  by  mentioning  her  perfidy ;  but  as  I  know 
you  love  and  are  beloved  by  Miss  Franklin,  I  was  de 
termined  not  to  let  these  foolish  scruples  of  honor  step 
between  you  and  happiness,  or  your  tenderness  for  the 
peace  of  a  perfidious  girl,  prevent  your  uniting  yourself 
to  a  woman  of  honor." 

"  Good  heavens  !"  said  Montraville,  "  what  poignant 
reflections  does  a  man  endure  who  sees  a  lovely  woman 
plunged  in  infamy  and  is  conscious  he  was  her  first 
seducer  ;  but  are  you  certain  of  what  you  say,  Belcour  ]" 

"  So  far,"  he  replied,  "  that  I  myself  have  received 
advances  from  her,  which  I  would  not  take  advantage 
of,  out  of  regard  to  you :  but  hang  it,  think  no  more 
about  her.  I  dined  at  Franklin's  to-day,  and  Julia  bid 
me  seek  and  bring  you  to  tea  :  so  come  along,  my  lad, 
make  good  use  of  the  opportunity,  and  receive  the  gift3 
of  fortune  while  they  are  within  your  reach." 

Montraville  was  too  much  agitated  to  pass  a  happy 
evening  even  in  the  company  of  Julia  Franklin  :  he 
determined  to  visit  Charlotte  early  the  next  morning, 
tax  her  with  falsehood,  and  take  an  everlasting  leave 
of  her  ;  but  when  the  morning  came,  he  was  commanded 
on  duty,  and  for  six  weeks  was  prevented  from  putting 
his  design  into  execution.  At  length  he  found  an  hou 
.0  spare,  and  walked  out  to  spend  it  with  Charlotte :  it 
ivas  near  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  he  arrived 
tit  her  cottage :  she  was  not  in  the  parlor,  and  without 
calling  her  servant,  he  walked  up  stairs,  thinking  to 
find  her  in  her  bed  room.  He  opened  the  door,  and 
the  first  object  that  met  his  eyes  was  Charlotte  asleep  ' 
on  the  bed,  and  Belcour  by  her  side. 

"  Death  and  distraction,"  said  he,  stamping,  "  this  ia 


62  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

too  much.  Rise,  villain,  and  defend  yourself."  Belcour 
sprang  from  the  bed.  The  noise  awoke  Charlotte :  ter 
rified  at  the  furious  appearance  of  Montraville,  and 
seeing*  Belcour  with  him  in  the  chamber,  she  caught 
hold  of  his  arm  as  he  stood  by  the  bed  side,  and  eagerly 
asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"Treacherous,  infamous  girl,"  said  he,  "can  you 
ask  ]  How  came  he  here  V  pointing  to  Belcour. 

"  As  heaven  is  my  witness,"  replied  she,  weeping, 
"  I  do  not  know.     I  have  not  seen  him  for  these  three  / 
weeks." 

"  Then  you  confess  he  sometimes  visits  you  ?" 

"He  came  sometimes  by  your  desire." 

" 'Tis  false:  I  never  desired  him  to  come,  and  you 
know  I  did  not:  but  mark  me,  Charlotte,  from  this 
instant  our  connexion  is  at  an  end.  Let  Belcour,  or 
any  other  of  your  favorite  lovers,  take  you  and  provide 
for  you ;  I  have  done  with  you  forever." 

He  was  then  going  to  leave  her ;  but  starting  wildly 
from  the  bed,  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  before 
him,  protesting  her  innocence,  and  entreating  him  not 
to  leave  her.  "Oh,  Montraville,"  said  she,  "kill  me, 
for  pity's  sake  kill  me,  but  do  not  doubt  my  fidelity. 
Do  not  leave  me  in  this  horrid  situation ;  for  the  sake 
of  your  unborn  child,  Oh !  spurn  not  the  wretched 
mother  from  you." 

"  Charlotte","  said  he,  with  a  firm  voice,  "  I  shall  take 
care  that  neither  you,  nor  your  child,  want  any  thing 
in  the  approaching  painful  hour ;  I  it  we  meet  no  more." 
He  then  endeavored  to  raise  her  from  the  ground,  but 
in  vain;  she  clung  about  his  knees,  entreating  him  to 
believe  her  innocent,  and  conjuring  Belcour  to  clear  up 
the  dreadful  mystery. 

Belcour  cast  on  Montraville  a  smile  of  contempt:  it 
/irritated  him  almost  to  madness;  he  broke  from  the 
feeble  arms  of  the  distressed  girl ;  she.  shrieked  and 
fell  prostrate  on  the  floor.  Montraville  instantly  left 
Lne  house  and  returned  hastily  to  the  city. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  83 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MYSTERY   DEVELOPED. 

UNFORTUNATELY  for  Charlotte,  about  three  weeks 
before  this  unhappy  rencontre,  Captain  Beauchamp, 
being  ordered  to  Rhode  Island,  his  lady  had  accompa 
nied  him,  so  that  Charlotte  was  deprived  of  her  friendly 
advice  and  consoling  society.  The  afternoon  on  which 
Montraville  had  visited  her  she  bad  found  herself  lan 
guid  and  fatigued,  and  after  making  a  very  slight  dinner 
had  laid  down  to  endeavor  to  recruit  her  exhausted 
spirits,  and  contrary  to  her  expectations,  had  fallen 
asleep.  She  had  not  been  long  lain  down,  when  Bel- 
cour  arrived,  for  he  took  every  opportunity  of  visiting 
her,  and  striving  to  awaken  her  resentment  against 
Montraville.  He  enquired  of  the  servant  where  her 
mistress  was,  and  being  told  she  was  asleep,  took  up  a 
book  to  amuse  himself :  having  sat  a  few  minutes,  he 
by  chance  cast  his  eyes  towards  the  road,  and  saw 
Montraville  approaching;  he  instantly  conceived  the 
diabolical  scheme  of  ruining  the  unhappy  Charlotte  in 
his  opinion  forever ;  he  therefore  stole  softly  up  stairs, 
and  laying  himself  by  her  side  with  the  greatest  pre 
caution,  for  fear  she  should  awake,  was  in  that  situation 
discovered  by  his  credulous  friend. 

When  Montraville  spurned  the  weeping  Charlotte 
from  him,  arid  left  her  almost  distracted  with  terror  and 
despair,  Belcour  raised  her  from  the  floor,  and  leading 
her  down  stairs,  assumed  the  part  of  a  tender,  consoling 
friend  ;  she  listened  to  the  arguments  he  advanced  with 
apparent  composure ;  but  this  was  only  the  calm  of  a 
moment:  the  remembrance  of  Montraville's  recent 
cruelty  again  rushed  upon  her  mind  :  she  pushed  him 
.from  her  with  some  violence,  and  crying,  "  Leave  me 
|Sir,  I  beseech  you,  leave  me,  for-m.ucii  I  fear  you  have 
been  the  cause  of  my  fidelity  being  suspected  ;  go, 


64  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

.,rf**^  \ 

leave  me  to  the  accumulated  miseries  my  own  i'rnpn> 
dence  has  brought  upon  me." 

She  then  left  him  with  precipitation,  and  retiring  to  her 
own  apartment,  threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and  gave  vent 
to  an. agony  of  grief  which  it  is  impossible  to  describe. 

It  now  occurred  to  Belcour  that  she  might  possibly 
write  to  Montraville,  and  endeavor  to  convince  him  of 
her  innocence ;  he  was  well  aware  of  her  pathetic  re 
monstrances,  and  sensible  of  the  tenderness  of  Montra- 
ville's  heart,  resolved  to  prevent  any  letters  ever  reach 
ing  him :  he  therefore  called  the  servant,  and  by  the 
powerful  persuasion  of  a  bribe,  prevailed  with  her  to 
.promise  whatever  letters  her  mistress  might  write, 
'should  be  sent  to  him.  He  then  left  a  polite,  tender 
note  for  Charlotte,  and  returned  to  New  York.  His 
first  business  was  to  seek  Montraville,  and  endeavor  to 
convince  him  that  what  had  happened  would  ultimately 
tend  to  his  happiness ;  he  found  him  in  his  apartment, 
solitary,  pensive,  and  wrapped  in  disagreeable  re 
flections. 

"  Why  how  now,  whining,  pining  lover?"  said  he, 
clapping  him  on  the  shoulder.  Montraville  started  ;  a 
momentary  flush  of  resentment  crossed  his  cheek,  but 
instantly  gave  place  to  death-like  paleness,  occasioned 
by  painful  remembrancer-remembrance  awakened  by 
that  monitor,  whom,  though  we  may  in  vain  endeavor, 
we  can  never  entirely  silence. 

"Belcour,"  said  he,  "you  have  injured  me  in  a  ten 
der  point." 

"  Prithee  Jack,"  replied  Belcour,  "  do  not  make  a 
serious  matter  of  it :  how  could  I  refuse  the  girl's  ad 
vances  ]  and  thank  heaven  she  is  not  your  wife." 

"True,"  said  Montraville;  "but  she  was  innocent 
when  I  first  knew  her.  It  was  I  seduced  her,  Balcour. 
Had  it  not  been  for  me  she  had  still  been  virtuous  and 
Lappy  in  the  affection  and  protection  of  her  family." 

"  Pshaw,"  replied  Belcour,  laughing,  "  if  you  had  not 
taken  advantage  of  her  easy  nature,  some  other  would, 
nd  where  is  the  difference,  pray  1" 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  85 

"I  wish  I  had  never  seen  her,"  cried  he,  passionately 
and  starting  from  his  seat.  "  Oh,  that  cursed  French 
woman,"  added  he,  with  vehemence,  "had  it  not  been 
for  her,  I  might  have  been  happy. — "  He  paused. 

"With  Julia  Franklin,"  said  Belcour. — The  name, 
like  a  sudden  spark  of  electric  fire,  seemed  for  a  mo 
ment  to  suspend  his  faculties — for  a  moment  he  was 
transfixed  ;  but  recovering  he  caught  Belcour's  hand, 
and  cried — ";Stop !  stop  !  I  beseech  you  name  not  the 
lovely  Julia  and  the  wretched  Montravijle  in  the  same 
breath.,  I  am  a  seducer,  a  mean,  ungenerous  seducer, 
of  unsuspecting  innocence.  I  dare  not  hope  that  purity 
like  her's  would  stoop  to  unite  itself  with  .black  pre 
meditated  guilt ;  yet  by  heavens  I  swear,  Belcour,  I 
thought  I  loved  the  lost,  abandoned  Charlotte,  till  I 
saw  Julia — I  thought  I  never  could  forsake  her :  but 
the  heart  is  deceitful,  and  I  now  can  plainly  discrimi 
nate  between  the  impulse  of  a  youthful  passion  and  the 
pure  flame  of  disinterested  affection." 

At  that  instant  Julia  Franklin  passed  the  window, 
leaning  on  her  uncle's  arm.  She  curtseyed  as  she 
passed,  and  with  a  bewitching  smile  of  modest  cheerful 
ness,  cried — "Do  you  bury  yourselves  in  the  house  this 
fine  evening,  gents  ?"  There  was  something  in  the 
voice,  the  manner,  the  look,  that  was  altogether  irre 
sistible.  "  Perhaps  she  wishes  my  company,"  said  Mon- 
traville,  mentally,  as  he  snatched  up  his  hat :  "  If  I 
thought  she  loved  me,  I  would  confess  my  errors,  and 
trust  to  her  generosity  to  pity  and  pardon  me."  He 
soon  overtook  her,  and  offering  her  his  arm,  they  saun 
tered  to  pleasant  but  unfrequented  walks.  Belcour 
drew  Mr.  Franklin  on  one  side,  and  entered  into  a  po 
litical  discourse:  they  walked  faster  than  the  young 
people,  and  Belcour  by  some  means  contrived  entirely 
to  lose  sight  of  them.  It  was  a  fine  evening  in  the 
beginning  of  autumn  ;  the  last  remains  of  day- light 
faintly  streaked  the  western  sky,  while  the  moon,  with 
pale  and  virgin  lustre,  in  the  room  of  gorgeous  gold 
and  purple,  ornamented  the  canopy  of  heaven  with 
9 


86  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

silver,  fleecy  clouds,  which  now  and  then  half  hid  her 
lovely  face,  and  by  partly  concealing",  heightened  every 
beauty  ;  the  zephyrs  whispered  softly  through  the  trees, 
which  now  began  to  shed  their  leafy  honors ;  a  solemn 
eilenee  reigned  :  and  to  a  happy  mind  an  evening  such  as 
•Jiis  would  give  serenity,  and  calm,  unruffled  pleasure  ; 
Dut  to  Montraville,  while  it  soothed  the  turbulence  of 
his  passions,  it  brought  increase  of  melancholy  reflec 
tions.  Julia  was  leaning  on  his  arm  :  he  took  her  hand 
in  his,  and  pressing  it  gently,  sighed  deeply  but  con 
tinued  silent.  Julia  was  embarrassed ;  she  wished  to 
b*eak  a  silence  so  unaccountable,  but  was  unable ;  she 
loved  Montraville,  she  saw  he  was  unhappy,  and  wished 
to  know  the  cause  of  his  uneasiness,  but  that  innate 
modesty  which  nature  has  implanted  in  the  female 
breast,  prevented  her  inquiring.  "  I  am  bad  company, 
Miss  Franklin,"  said  he,  at  last  recollecting  himself; 
"  but  I  have  met  with  something  to-day  that  has 
greatly  distressed  ir<e,  and  I  cannot  shake  off  the  dis 
agreeable  impression  it  has  made  on  my  mind." 

"  I  am  sorry;"  she  replied,  "  that  you  have  any  cause 
of  inquietude.  I  am  sure  if  you  were  as  happy  as  you 
deserve,  and  as  all  of  your  friends  wish  you- — "  She 
hesitated.  "  And  might  I,"  replied  he  with  some 
animation,  "  presume  to  rank  the  amiable  Julia  in  that 
number  ]" 

"  Certainly,"  said  she,  "  the  service  you  have  render 
ed  me,  the  knowledge  of  your  worth,  all  combine  to 
make  me  esteem  you." 

"Esteem,  my  lovely  Julia,"  said  he  passionately,  "is 
but  a  poor  cold  word.  I  would  if  I  dared,  if  I  thought 
I  merited  your  attention — but  no,  I  must  not — honor 
forbids.  I  am  beneath  your  notice,  Julia,  I  am  miser 
able,  and  cannot  hope  to  be  otherwise." 

"Alas!"  said  Julia,  "  I  pity  you." 

"  Oh  thou  condescending  charmer,"  said  he,  "  how 
that  sweet  word  cheers  my  sad  heart.  Indeed  if  you 
knew  all,  you  would  pity  ;  but  at  the  same  time  I  fear 
vou  would  despise  me." 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  87 

Just  then  they  were  joined  by  Mr.  Franklin  and 
Belcour.  [t  had  interupted  an  interesting  discourse. 
They  found  it  impossible  to  converse  on  different  sub 
jects,  and  proceeded  home  in  silence.  At  Mr.  Frank 
lin's  door,  Montraville  again  pressed  Julia's  hand,  and 
faintly  articulating  *'  good  night,"  retired  to  his  lodgings 
dispirited  and  wretched,  from  a  consciousness  that  he 
deserved  not  the  affection,  with  which  he  plainly  saw 
he  was  honored. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

RECEPTION   OF   A   LETTER. 

"  AND  where  now  is  our  poor  Charlotte  ?"  said  Mr. 
Temple  one  evening,  as  the  cold  blasts  of  autumn 
whistled  rudely  over  the  heath,  and  the  yellow  appear 
ance  of  the  distant  wood,  spoke  the  near  approach  of 
winter.  In  vain  the  cheerful  fire  blazed  on  the  hearth, 
in  vain  was  he  surrounded  by  all  the  comforts  of  life  ; 
the  parent  was  still  alive  in  his  heart,  and  when  he 
thought  that  perhaps  his  once  darling  child  was  ere 
this  exposed  to  all  the  miseries  of  want  in  a  distant 
land,  without  a  friend  to  sooth  and  comfort  her,  without 
the  benignant  look  of  compassion  to  cheer,  or  the 
angelic  voice  of  pity  to  pour  the  balm  of  consolation  on 
her  wounded  heart;  when  he  thought  of  this,  his  whole 
soul  dissolved  into  tenderness;  and  while  he  wiped  the 
tear  of  anguish  from  the  eye  of  his  patient,  uncom 
plaining  Lucy,  he  struggled  to  suppress  the  sympath 
izing  drop  that  started  in  his  own.  "  Oh,  my  poor 
girl,"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  "  how  must  she  be  altered, 
else  surely  she  would  have  relieved  our  agonizing 
minds  by  one  line  to  say  she  lived — to  say  she  had  not 
quite  forgot  the  parents  who  almost  idolized  her." 


88  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

"  Gracious  heaven  !"  said  Mr.  Temple,  starting-  from 
his  seat,  "  who  would  wish  to  be  a  father,  to  experience 
the  agonizing-  pangs  inflicted  on  a  parent's  heart  by  the 
ingratitude  of  a  child?"  Mrs.  Temple  wept:  her  father 
took  her  hand  ;  he  would  have  said — "  be  comforted, 
my  child  1"  but  the  words  died  on  his  tongue.  The  sad 
silence  that  ensued  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  rap  at 
the  door.  In  a  moment  a  servant  entered  with  a  letter 
in  his  hand. 

Mrs.  Temple  took  it  from  him  ;  she  cast  her  eyes 
upon  the  superscription;  she  knew  the  writing — "'Tis 
Charlotte,"  said  she,  eagerly  breaking  the  seal,  "she 
has  not  quite  forgot  us."  But  before  she  had  half  gone 
through  the  contents, a  sudden  sickness  seized  her;  she 
grew  cold  and  giddy,  and  putting  it  into  her  husband's 
hand,  she  cried — "  Read  it :  I  cannot."  Mr.  Temple 
attempted  to  read  it  aloud,  but  frequently  paused  to 
give  vent  to  his  tears.  "  My  poor  deluded  child,"  said 
he,  when  he  had  finished. 

"Oh  shall  we  not  forgive  the  dear  penitent?"  said 
Mrs.  Temple.  "  We  must,  we  will,  my  love ;  she  is 
willing  to  return,  and  'tis  our  duty  to  receive  her." 

"  Father  of  mercy,"  said  Mr.  Eldridge,  raising  his 
clasped  hands,  "  let  me  but  live  once  more  to  see  the 
dear  wanderer  restored  to  her  afflicted  parents,  and 
take  me  from  this  world  of  sorrow  whenever  it  seemeth 
best  to  thy  wisdom." 

"  Yes,  we  will  receive  her,"  said  Mr.  Temple  ;  "  we 
will  endeavor  to  heal  her  wounded  spirit,  and  speak 
peace  and  comfort  to  her  wounded  soul.  I  will  write 
to  her  to  return  immediately." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  "  I  would,  if  possible,  fly 
to  her,  support  and  cheer  the  dear  sufferer  in  the 
approaching  hour  of  distress,  and  tell  her  how  nearly 
penitence  is  allied  to  virtue.  Cannot  we  go  and  con 
duct  her  home,  my  love  ]"  continued  she,  laying  her 
hand  on  his  arm,  "  my  father  will  surely  forgive  our 
absence,  if  we  go  to  bring  home  his  darling." 

"  You  cannot  go,  my  Lucy,"  said  Mr.  Temple  :  "  the 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  89 

delicacy  of  your  frame  would  but  poorly  sustain  the 
fatigue  of  a  long-  voyage;  but  I  will  go  and  bring  the 
gentle  penitent  to  your  arms :  we  may  still  see  many 
years  of  happiness." 

The  struggle  in  the  bosom  of  Mrs.  Temple  between 
maternal  and  conjugal  tenderness  was  long  and  painful. 
At  length  the  former  triumphed,  and  she  consented  that 
her  husband  should  set  forward  to  New  York  by  the 
first  opportunity :  she  wrote  to  her  Charlotte  in  the 
lenderest,  most  consoling  manner,  and  looked  forward 
to  the  happy  hour,  when  she  should  again  embrace  her 
with  the  most  animated  hope. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WHAT    MIGHT   BE    EXPECTED. 

IN  the  mean  time  the  passion  Montraville  had  con 
ceived  for  Julia  Franklin  daily  increased,  and  he  saw 
evidently  how  much  he  was  beloved  by  that  amiable 
girl :  he  was  likewise  strongly  prepossessed  with  an 
idea  of  Charlotte's  perfidy.  What  wonder  then  if  he 
gave  himself  up  to  the  delightful  sensation  which  per 
vaded  his  bosom ;  and  finding  no  obstacle  arise  to  op 
pose  his  happiness,  he  solicited  and  obtained  the  hand 
of  Julia.  A  few  days  before  his  marriage  he  thus  ad 
dressed  Belcour : 

"Though  Charlotte  by  her  abandoned  conduct,  has 
thrown  herself  from  my  protection,  I  still  hold  myself 
bound  to  support  her  till  relieved  from  her  presen 
condition,  and  also  to  provide  for  the  child.  I  do  no 
intend  to  see  her  again,  but  I  will  place  a  sum  of 
monty  in  your  hands,  which  will  amply  .supply  her 
with  every  convenience  ;  but  should  she  require  more, 
let  her  have  it,  and  I  will  see  it  repaid.  I  wish  I  could 
8* 


90  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

prevail  on  the  poor  deluded  girl  to  return  to  her  friends. 
She  was  an  only  child,  and  I  make  no  doubt  but  that 
they  would  joyfully  receive  her;  it  would  shock  me 
greatly  to  see  her  henceforth  leading  a  life  of  infamy, 
as  I  should  always  accuse  myself  of  being  the  primary 
cause  of  her  errors.  If  she  should  choose  to  remain 
under  your  protection,  be  kind  to  her,  Belcour,  I  con 
jure  you.  Let  not  satiety  prompt  you  to  treat  her  in 
such  a  manner,  as  may  drive  her  to  actions  which 
necessity  might  urge  her  to,  while  her  better  reason 
disapproved  them :  she  shall  never  want  a  friend  while 
I  live,  but  I  never  more  desire  to  behold  her ;  her  pre 
sence  would  always  be  painful  to  me,  and  a  glance 
from  her  eye  would  call  a  blush  of  conscious  guilt  into 
my  cheek.  I  will  write  a  letter  to  her,  which  you  may 
deliver  when  I  am  gone,  as  I  shall  go  to  St.  Eustatia 
the  day  after  my  union  with  Julia,  who  will  accom 
pany  me." 

Belcour  promised  to  fulfil  the  request  of  his  friend, 
though  nothing  was  farther  from  his  intentions,  than 
the  least  design  of  delivering  the  letter,  or  making 
Charlotte  acquainted  with  the  provision  Montraville 
had  made  for  her;  he  was  bent  on  the  complete  ruin 
of  the  unhappy  girl^and  supposed  by  reducing  her  to  an 
entire  dependence  on  him,  to  bring  her  by  degrees  to 
consent  to  gratify  his  ungenerous  passion. 

The  evening  before  the  day  appointed  for  the, nup 
tials  of  Montraville  and  Julia,  the  former  retired  early 
to  his  apartment :  and  ruminating  on  the  past  scenes 
of  his  life,  suffered  the  keenest  remorse  in  the  remen> 
brance  of  Charlotte's  seduction.  "  Poor  girl,"  said  he, 
"  I  will  at  least  write  and  bid  her  adieu  ;  I  will  too  en 
deavor  to  awaken  that  love  of  virtue  in  her  bosom 
which  her  unfortunate  attachment  to  me  has  extin 
guished."  He  took  up  the  pen  and  began  to  write,  but 
words  were  denied  him.  How  could  he  address  the 
woman  whom-  he  had  seduced,  and  whom  though  he 
thought  unworthy  his  tenderness,  he  was  about  to  bid 
adieu  forever]  How  should  he  tell  her  that  he  was 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE.  01 

to  abjure  her,  to  enter  into  the  most  indissoluble 
ties  with  another,  and  that  he  could  not  even  own  the 
infant  which  she  bore  as  his  child  1  Several  letters 
were  begun  arid  destroyed :  at  length  he  completed  the 
following : 

To  CHARLOTTE. 

"  Though  I  have  taken  up  my  pen  to  address  you, 
my  poor  injured  girl,  I  feel  I  am  inadequate  to  the  task  ; 
yet,  however  painful  the  endeavor,  I  could  not  resolve 
upon  leaving  you  forever  without  one  kind  line  to  bid 
you  adieu,  to  tell  you  how  my  heart  bleeds  at  the  re 
membrance  of  what  you  was,  before  you  saw  the  hated 
Montraville.  Even  now  imagination  paints  the  scene, 
when,  torn  by  contending  passions,  when  struggling 
Between  love  and  duty,  you  fainted  in  my  arms,  and  I 
lifted  you  into  the  chaise :  I  see  the  agony  of  your 
mind,  w.hen,  recovering,  you  found  yourself  on  the  road 
to  Portsmouth:  but  how,  my  gentle  girl,  how  could 
you,  when  so  justly  impressed  with  the  value  of  virtue, 
how  could  you,  when  loving  as  I  thought  you  loved 
me,  yield  to  the  solicitation  of  Belcour? 

"  O  Charlotte,  conscience  tells  me  it  was  I,  villain 
that  I  am,  who  first  taught  you  the  allurements  of 
guilty  pleasure :  it  was  I  who  dragged  you  from  the 
calm  repose  which  innocence  and  virtue  ever  enjoy; 
and  can  I,  dare  I  tell  you,  it  was  not  love  prompted  to 
the  horrid  deed  ]  No,  thou  dear  fallen  angel,  believe 
your  repentant  Montraville,  when  he  tells  you,  the 
mjia.who  truly  loves,  will  never  betray  the  object  of 
his  affection.  Adieu,  Charlotte:  could  you  still  find 
charms  in  a  life  of  unoffending  innocence,  return  to 
your  parents ;  you  shall  never  want  the  means  of 
support  both  for  yourself  and  child. — Oh!  gracious  hea 
/  ven  !  may  that  child  be  entirely  free  from  the  vices  of 
its  father  and  the  weakness  of  its  mother. 

**  To  morrow but  no,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  to 
morrow  will  produce ;  Belcour  will  inform  you :  he  has 


92  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

also  cash  for  you,  which  I  beg  you  will  ask  for  when 
ever  you  want  it.  Once  more  adieu :  believe  me, 
could  I  hear  you  was  returned  to  your  friends,  and  en 
joying  that  tranquillity  of  which  I  have  robbed  you,  I 
should  be  as  completely  happy  as  even  you,  in  your 
fondest  hours,  could  wish  me,  but  till  then  a  gloom  will 
obscure  the  brightest  prospects  of 

MONTRAVILLE." 

V 

After  he  had  sealed  this  letter  hej;hrevy  himself  on 
the  bed,  and  enjoyed  a  few  hours  repose.  Early"  in  the 
morning  Belcour  tapped  at  his  door  :  he  arose  hastily, 
and  prepared  to  meet  his  Julia  at  the  altar. 

"  This  is  the  letter  to  Charlotte,"  said  he,  giving  it 
to  Belcour :  "  take  it  to  her  when  we  are  gone  to 
Eustatia ;  and  I  conjure  you,  my  dear  friend,  not  to  use 
any  sophistical  arguments  to  prevent  her  return  to 
virtue ;  but  should  she  incline  that  way,  encourage  her 
in  the  thought,  and  assist  her  to  put  her  design  in 
execution." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Pensive  she  mourned,  and  hung  her  languid  head, 
Like  a  fair  lily  overcharg'd  with  dew. 

CHARLOTTE  had  now  been  left  almost  three  months 
a  prey  to  her  own  melancholy  reflections.. ..sad  com 
panions  indeed  :  nor  did  any  one  break  in  upon  her 
solitude  but  Belcour,  who  once  or  twice  called  to  en 
quire  after  her  health,  and  tell  her  he  had  in  vain  en 
deavored  to  bring  Montraville  to  hear  reason  ;  and 
once,  but  only  once,  was  her  mind  cheered  by  the  re 
ceipt  of  an  affectionate  letter  from  Mrs.  Beauchamp. 
Often  had  she  wrote  to  her  perfidous  seducer,  and  with 
the  most  persuasive  eloquence  endeavored  to  convince 


CHATtLOTTM   TEMPLE.  93 

him  of  her  innocence ;  but  these  letters  were  never 
suffered  to  reach  the  hands  of  Montraville,  or  they 
rnust,  though  on  the  very  eve  of  marriage,  have  pre 
vented  his  deserting  the  wretched  girl.  Real  anguish 
of  heart  had  in  a  great  measure  faded  her  charms,  her 
cheeks  were  pale  from  want  of  rest,  and  her  eyes,  by 
frequent,  indeed  almost  continued  weeping,  were  sunk 
and  heavy.  Sometimes  a  gleam  of  hope  would  play 

about  her  heart  when  she  thought  of  her  parents 

"  They  cannot  surely,"  she  would  say,  "  refuse  to  for 
give  me ;  or  should  they  deny  their  pardon  to  me,  they 
will  not  hate  rny  infant  on  account  of  its  mother's 
errors."  How  often  did  the  poor  mourner  wish  for  the 
consoling  presence  of  the  benevolent  Mrs.  Beauchamp. 
"  If  she  was  here,"  she  would  cry,  "  she  would  certain 
ly  comfort  me,  and  sooth  the  distraction  of  my  soul." 

She  was  sitting  one  afternoon,  wrapped  in  these 
melancholy  reflections,  when  she  was  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  Belcour ;  great  as  the  alteration  was 
which  incessant  sorrow  had  made  on  her  person,  she 
was  still  interesting,  still  charming  ;  and  the  unhallowed 
flame,  which  had  urged  Belcour  to  plant  dissention  be 
tween  her  and  Montraville,  still  raged  in  his  bosom  ; 
he  was  determined,  if  possible,  to  make  her  his  mistress ; 
nay,  he  had  even  conceived  the  diabolical  scheme  of 
taking  her  to  New  York,  and  making  her  appear  in 
every  public  place  where  it  was  likely  she  should  meet 
Montraville,  that  he  might  be  a  witness  to  his  unmanly 
triumph. 

When  he  entered  the  room  where  Charlotte  was 
sitting,  he  assumed  the  look  of  tender,  condolatory 
friendship.  "  And  how  does  my  lovely  Charlotte  1" 
said  he,  taking  her  hand :  "  I  fear  you  are  not  so  weil 
as  I  could  wish." 

44 1  am  not  well,  Mr.  Belcour,"  said  she,  "  very  far 
from  it ;  but  the  pains  and  infirmities  of  the  body  I 
could  easily  bear,  nay  submit  to  them  with  patience, 
were  they  not  aggravated  by  the  most  insupportable 
anguish  of  my  mind." 


v.3 


94  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

"  You  are  not  happy,  Charlotte,"  said  he,  with  a 
look  of  well  dissembled  sorrow. 

"Alas  !"  replied  she,  mournfully,  shaking  her  head, 
"  how  can  I  be  happy,  deserted  as  I  am,  without  a 
friend  of  my  own  sex  to  whom  I  can  unburthen  my  full 
heart,  nay,  my  fidelity  suspected  by  the  very  man  for 
whom  I  have  sacrificed  every  thing-  valuable  in  life,  for 
whom  I  have  made  myself  a  poor,  despised  creature,  an\ 
outcast  from  society,  an  object  only  of  contempt  and 
pity."T 

"You  think  too  meanly  of  yourself,  Miss  Temple: 
there  is  no  one  who  would  dare  to  treat  you  with  con 
tempt  :  all  who  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  you  must 
admire  and  esteem.  You  are  lonely  here,  my  dear 
g'irl ;  give  me  leave  to  conduct  you  to  New  York,  where 
the  agreeable  society  of  some  ladies,  to  whom  I  will  in 
troduce  you,  will  dispel  the  sad  thoughts,  and  I  shall 
again  see  returning  cheerfulness  animate  those  lovely 
features." 

"  Oh,  never!  never!"  cried  Charlotte,  emphatically  ; 
"  the  virtuous  part  of  my  sex  will  scorn  me,  and  I  will 
never  associate  with  infamy.  No,  Belcour,  here  let  me 
hide  my  shame  and  sorrow,  here  let  me  spend  my  few 
remaining  days  in  obscurity,  unknown  and  unpitied  ; 
here  let  me  die  unlamented,  and  rny  name  sink  to 
oblivion."  Here  her  tears  stopped  her  utterance. 
Belcour  was  awed  to  silence ;  he  dared  not  to  interrupt 
her ;  and  after  a  moment's  pause,  she  proceeded — "  I 
once  had  conceived  the  thought  of  going  to  New  York, 
to  seek  out  the  still  dear,  though  cruel,  ungenerous 
Montraville,  to  throw  myself  at  his  feet,  and  entreat 
his  compassion  ;  heaven  knows,  not  for  myself;  if  I  am 
no  longer  beloved,  I  will  not  be  indebted  to  his  pity  to 
redress  my  injuries,  but  I  would  have  knelt  and 
entreated  him  not  to  forsake  my  poor  unborn — "  She 
could  say  no  more ;  a  crimson  glow  rushed  over  her 
cheeks,  and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she 
sobbed  aloud. 

Something  like  humanity  was  awakened  in  Belcour's 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  95 

breast  by  this  pathetic  speech :  he  arose  and  walked 
towards  the  window ;  but  the  selfish  passion  which  had 
taken  possession  of  his  heart,  soon  stifled  these  finer 
emotions :  and  he  thought,  if  Charlotte  was  once  con 
vinced  she  had  no  longer  any  dependance  on  Montra- 
ville,  she  would  more  readily  throw  herself  on  his  pro 
tection.  Determined,  therefore,  to  inform  her  of  all 
that  had  happened,  he  again  resumed  his  seat;  and 
finding  she  began  to  be  more  composed,  enquired  if  she 
had  ever  heard  from  Montraville  since  the  unhappy 
rencounter  in  her  bed-chamber. 

"  Ah  no,"  said  she,  "  I  fear  I  shall  never  hear  from 
him  again." 

"  I  am  greatly  of  your  opinion,"  said  Belcour,  "for 
he  has  been  for  some  time  past  greatly  attached " 

At  the  word  "  attached,"  a  death-like  paleness  over 
spread  the  countenance  of  Charlotte,  but  she  applied  to 
some  hartshorn  which  stood  beside  her,  and  Belcour 
proceeded. 

"  He  has  been  for  some  time  past  greatly  attached  to 
one  Miss  Franklin,  a  pleasing  lively  girl,  with  a  large 
fortune'T^ 

"  She  may  be  richer,  may  be  handsomer,"  cried 
Charlotte,  "  but  cannot  love  him  so  well.  O !  may  she 
beware  of  his  art,  and  not  trust  him  too  far  as  I  have 
done." 

"  He  addresses  her  publicly,"  said  he,  "  and  it  was 
rumored  they  were  to  be,  married  before  he  sailed  for 
Eustatia,  whither  his  company  is  ordered." 

"  Belcour,"  said  Charlotte,  seizing  his  hand,  and 
gazing  at  him  earnestly,  while  her  pale  lips  trembled 
wjth Convulsive  agony,  "  tell  me,  and  tell  me  truly,  I 
beseech  you,  do  you  think  he  can  be  such  a  villain  as 
to  marry  another  woman,  and  leave  me  to  die  with 
want  and  misery  in  a  strange  land  ?  tell  me  what  you 
think  ;  I  can  bear  it  very  well ;  I  will  not  shrink  from 


$6  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

"  Perhaps,"  cried  she,  eagerly  interrupting-  him, 
u  pei naps  he  is  married  already  :  come  let  me  know  the 
worst,"  continued  she,  with  an  affected  look  of  com 
posure  :  "  you  need  not  be  afraid,  I  shall  not  send  the 
fortunate  lady  a  bowl  of  poison." 

"  Well  then,  my  dear  girl,"  said  he,  deceived  by  her 
appearance,  "  they  were  married  on  Thursday,  and 
yesterday  morning  they  sailed  for  Eustatia." 

"  Married — gone — say  you  ]"  cried  she  in  a  distract 
ed  accent,  "  what,  without  a  last  farewell,  without  one 
thought  on  my  unhappy  situation "?  Oh  Montraville^ 
may  God  forgive  your  perfidy."  She  shrieked,  andi 
Belcour  sprang  forward  just  in  time  to  prevent  her 
falling  to  the  floor. 

Alarming  faintings  now  succeeded  each  other,  and 
she  was  conveyed  to  her  bed,  from  whence  she  earnest 
ly  prayed  she  might  never  more  arise.  Belcour  staid 
with  her  that  night,  and  in  the  morning  found  her  in  a 
high  fever.  The  fits  she  had  been  seized  with  had 
greatly  terrified  him ;  and  confined  as  she  now  was  to 
A  bed  of  sickness,  she  was  no  longer  an  object  of  desire : 
it  is  true  for  several  days  he  went  constantly  to  see 
her,  but  her  pale,  emaciated  appearance  disgusted  him: 
his  visits  became  less  frequent ;  he  forgot  the  solemn 
charge  given  him  by  Montraville;  he  even  forgot  the 
money  entrusted  to  his  care :  and,  the  burning  blush 
of  indignation  and  shame  tinges  my  cheek  while  I 
write  it,  this  disgrace  to  humanity  and  manhood  at 
length  fprgot  even  the  injured  Charlotte ;  and  attracted 
by  the  blooming  health  of  a  farmer's  daughter,  whom 
he  had  seen  in  his  frequent  excursions  to  the  country, 
he  left  the  unhappy  girl  to  sink  unnoticed  to  the  grave, 
a  prey  to  sickness,  grief  and  penury:  while  he,  having 
triumphed  over  the  virtue  of  the  artless  cottager,  rioted 
fri  all  the  intemperance  of  luxury  and  lawless  pleasure. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  97 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A   TRIFLING   RETROSPECTION. 

"  BLESS  my  heart,"  cries  my  young  volatile  reader, 
"  I  shall  never  have  patience  to  get  through  this 
volume ;  there  are  so  many  ahs !  and  chs  !  so  mucl 
fainting,  tears  and  distress,  I  am  sick  to  death  of 
the  subject."  My  dear,  cheerful,  innccent  girl,  for 
innocent  I  will  suppose  you  to  be,  or  you  would  acutely 
feel  the  woes  of  Charlotte,  did  conscience  say,  thus 
might  it  have  been  with  me,  had  n  >t  Providence 
interposed  to  snatch  me  from  destruct  on  :  therefore 
my  lively,  innocent  girl,  I  must  request  your  patience  : 
I  am  writing  a.  tale  of  truth  :  I  mean  to  vrite  it  to  the 
heart!  but  if  perchance  the  heart  is  ren  lered  impene 
trable  by  unbounded  prosperity,  or  a  continuance 
in  vice,  I  expect  not  my  tale  to  please,  n  -y,  I  even  ex 
pect  it  will  be  thrown  by  with  disgust  But  softly, 
gentle  fair  one ;  I  pray  you  throw  it  not  aside  till  you 
have  perused  the  whole ;  mayhap  y  u  may  find 
something  therein  to  repay  you  for  the  rouble.  Me- 
thinks  I  see  a  sarcastic  smile  sit  on  youi  countenance. 
44  And  what,"  cry  you,  "  does  the  com  -»ited  author 
suppose  we  can  glean  from  these  pages,  w  Charlotte  is 
held  up  as  an  object  of  terror,  to  prei  «it  us  from 
falling  into  guilty  errors'?  does  not  La  Ru  >  triumph  ia 
her  shame,  and  by  adding  art  to  guilt  -obtain  th* 
affection  of  a  worthy  man,  and  rise  to  a  sv*4ion  where> 
she  is  beheld  with  respect,  and  cheerfully  r  reived  into 
all  companies  1  What  then  is  the  moral  yen  would  in 
culcate  7  Would  you  wish  us  to  think  that  it  deviation 
from  virtue,  if  covered  by  art  and  hypocrisy,  is  not  an 
object  of  detestation,  but  on  the  contrary  sha  1  raise  us 
to  fame  and  honor  ^  while  the  hapless  girl  v  \io  falls  a 
victim  to  her  too  great  sensibility,  shall  be  loaded  with 
ignominy  and  shame )"  No,  my  fair  querist,  1  mean  no 
9 


OS  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

such  thing.  Remember  the  endeavors  of  the  wicked 
are  often  suffered  to  prosper,  that  in  the  end  their  fall 
may  be  attended  with  more  bitterness  of  heart ;  while 
the  cup  of  affliction  is  poured  out  for  wise  and  salutary 
ends,  and  they  who  are  compelled  to  drain  it  even  to 
the  bitter  dregs,  often  find  comfort  at  the  bottom  :  the 
tear  of  penitence  blots  their  offences  from  the  book  of 
fate,  and  they  rise  from  the  heavy,  painful  trial,  purifi 
ed  and  fit  for  a  mansion  in  the  kingdom  of  eternity. 

Yes,  my  young  friends,  the  tear  of  compassion  shall 
fall  for  the  fate  of  Charlotte,  while  the  name  of  La  Rue 
^shall  be  detested  and  despised.  For  Charlotte,  the  soul 
jmelts  with  sympathy ;  for  La  Rue,  it  feels  nothing  but 
tnrror  and  contempt.  But  perhaps  your  gay  hearts 
would  rather  follow  the  fortunate  Mrs.  Crayton  through 
the  scenes  of  pleasure  and  dissipation  in  which  she  was 
engaged,  then  listen  to  the  complaints  and  miseries  of 
Charlotte.  I  will  for  once  oblige  you;  I  will  for  once 
follow  her  to  midnight  revels,  balls,  and  scenes  of 
gaiety,  for  in  such  was  she  constantly  engaged. 

I  have  said  her  person  was  lovely ;  let  us  add  that 
she  was  surrounded  by  splendor  arid  affluence,  and  he 
must  know  but  little  of  the  world  who  can  wonder 
(however  faultly  such  a  woman's  conduct)  at  her  being 
followed  by  the  men,  and  her  company  courted  by  the 
women :  in  short,  Mrs.  Crayton  was  the  universal 
favorite,  she  set  the  fashions,  she  was  toasted  by  the 
gentlemen,  and  copied  by  the  ladies. 

Colonel  Crayton  was  a  domestic  man Could  he  be 

happy  with  such  a  woman  1  impossible  !  Remonstrance 
was  vain :  he  might  as  well  have  preached  to  the 
winds,  as  endeavor  to  persuade  her  from  any  action, 
however  ridiculous,  on  which  she  had  set  her  mind  ;  ii 
short,  after  a  little  ineffectual  struggle,  he  gave  up  th 
attempt  and  left  her  to  follow  the  bent  of  her  own  in 
clinations  ;  what  those  were  I  think  the  reader  must 
have  seen  enough  of  her  character  to  form  a  just  idea. 
Among  the  number  who  paid  their  devotions  at  her 
shrine,  she  singled  out  one,  a  young  ensign  of  rneaa 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  99 

birth,  indifferent  education,  and  weak  intellects.  How 
such  a  man  came  into  the  army  we  hardly  can  account 
for,  and  how  he  afterwards  rose  to  posts  of  honor 
is  likewise  strange  and  wonderful.  But  fortune  is 
blind,  and  so  are  those  too  frequently  who  have  the 
power  of  dispensing1  her  favors :  else  why  do  we  see 
fools  and  knaves  at  the  very  top  of  the  wheel,  while 
patient  merit  sinks  to  the  extreme  of  the  opposite  abyss. 
But  we  may  form  a  thousand  conjectures  on  this  sub 
ject,  and  yet  never  hit  on  the  right.  Let  us  therefore 
endeavor  to  deserve  her  smiles,  and  whether  we 
succeed  or  not,  we  shall  feel  more  innate  satisfaction, 
than  thousands  of  those  who  bask  in  the  sunshine  of 
her  favor  unworthily.  But  to  return  to  Mrs.  Crayton: 
this  young  man  whom  I  shall  distinguish  by  the  name 
of  Corydon,  was  the  reigning  favorite  of  her  heart. 
He  escorted  her  to  the  play,  danced  with  her  at  every 
ball,  and  when  indisposition  prevented  her  going  out,  it 
was  he  alone  who  was  permitted  to  cheer  the  gloomy 
solitude  to  which  she  was  obliged  to  confine  herself. 
Did  she  ever  think  of  poor  Charlotte  ?  If  she  did,  my 
dear  Miss,  it  was  only  to  laugh  at  the  poor  girl's. want 
of  spirit  in  consenting  to  be  moped  up  in  the  country, 
while  Montraville  was  enjoying  all  the  pleasures  of  a 
gay,  dissipated  city.  When  she  heard  of  his  marriage, 
she  smiling  said,  so  there's  an  end  of  Madam 
Charlotte's  hopes.  I  wonder  who  will  take  her  now, 
or  what  will  become  of  the  little  affected  prude  1 

But  as  you  have  led  to  the  subject,  I  think  we  may 
as  well  return  to  the  distressed  Charlotte,  and  not  like 
the  unfeeling  Mrs.  Crayton,  shut  our  hearts  to  the  call 
of  humanity. 


100  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

WE    GO   FORWARD    AGAIN. 

THE  strength  of  Charlotte's  constitution  combated 
against  her  disorder,  and  she  began  slowly  to  recover, 
though  she  still  labored  under  a  violent  depression  t/f 
spirits :  how  must  that  depression  be  increased,  when, 
upon  examining  her  little  store,  she  found  herself 
reduced  to  one  solitary  guinea,  and,  that,  during  her 
illness,  the  attendance  of  an  apothecary  and  nurse,  to» 
gether  with  many  other  unavoidable  expenses,  had 
involved  her  in  debt,  from  which  she  saw  no  method 
of  extricating  herself.  As  to  the  faint  hope  which  she 
had  entertained  of  hearing  from,  and  being  relieved  by, 
her  parents,  it  now  entirely  forsook  her,  for  it  was 
about  four  months  since  her  letter  was  despatched,  and 
she  had  received  no  answer :  she  therefore  imagined 
that  her  conduct  had  either  entirely  alienated  their 
affection  from  her,  or  broken  their  hearts,  and  she 
must  never  more  hope  to  receive  their  blessing. 

Never  did  any  human  being  wish  for  death  with 
greater  fervency  or  with  juster  cause ;  yet  &he  had  too 
just  a  sense  of  the  duties  of  the  Christian  religion, 
to  attempt  to  put  a  period  to  her  own  existence. — "  I 
have  but  to  be  patient  a  little  longer,"  she  would  cry, 
"  and  nature,  fatigued  and  fainting,  will  throw  off  this 
heavy  load  of  mortality,  and  I  shall  be  released  from 
all  my  sufferings." 

It  was  one  cold  stormy  day  in  the  latter  end  of 
December,  as  Charlotte  sat  by  a  handful  of  fire,  the 
low  state  of  her  finances  not  allowing  her  to  replenish 
her  stock  of  foel,  and  prudence  teaching  her  to  be 
careful  of  what  she  had,  when  she  was  surprised  by  the 
appearance  of  a  farmer's  wife,  who,  without  much 
ceremony,  seated  herself,  and  began  this  curious 
harangue : 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE.  101 

"  I'm  come  to  see  if  HLS  how  you  cm  pay.  yor.r  rent, 
because  as  how  we  hear  Captain  Montable  is  gone 
away,  and  it's  fifty  to  one  if  he  b'ant  killed  afore  he 
comes  back  again  ;  and  then,  Miss  or  Ma'am,  or  what 
ever  you  may  be,  as  I  was  saying  to  my  husband, 
where  are  we  to  look  for  our  money  j" 

This  was  a  stroke  altogether  unexpected  by  Char 
lotte  :  she  knew  so  little  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  that 
she  had  never  bestowed  a  thought  on  the  payment  of 
the  rent  of  the  house ;  she  knew  indeed  that  she  owed 
a  good  deal,  but  this  was  never  reckoned  among  the 
others ;  she  was  thunder-struck ;  she  hardly  knew  what 
answer  to  make,  yet  it  was  absolutely  necessary  she 
should  say  something ;  and  judging  of  the  gentleness 
of  every  female  disposition  by  her  own,  she  thought 
the  best  way  to  interest  the  woman  in  her  favor,  would 
be  to  tell  her  candidly  to  what  a  situation  she  was 
reduced,  and  how  little  probability  there  was  of  her 
ever  paying  any  body. 

•  Alas!  poor  Charlotte,  how  confined  was  her  know 
ledge  of  human  nature,  or  she  would  have  been  con 
vinced  that  the  only  way  to  insure  the  friendship  and 
assistance  of  your  surrounding  acquaintance,  is  to  con 
vince  them  you  do  not  require  it,  for  when  once  the 
petrifying  aspect  of  distress  and  penury  appear,  whose 
qualities,  like  Medusa's  head,  can  change  to  stone  all 
that  look  upon  it;  when  once  the  Gordon  claims 
acquaintance  with  us,  the  phantom  of  friendship,  that 
before  courted  our  notice,  will  vanish  into  unsubstantial 
air,  and  the  whole  world  before  us  appear  a  barren 
waste.  Pardon  me,  ye  dear  spirits  of  benevolence, 
whose  benign  smiles,  and  cheerful-giving  hands,  have 
brewed  sweet  flowers  on  many  a  thorny  path  through 
which  my  wayward  fate  forced  me  to  pass ;  think  not 
that  in  condemning  the  unfeeling  texture  of  the  human 
heart,  I  forget  the  spring  from  whence  flow  all  the  com 
forts  I  enjoy :  oh  no !  I  look  up  to  ye  as  to  bright  constella 
tions,  gathering  new  splendors  from  the  surrounding 
darkness :  but  ah !  while  I  adore  the  benignant  ray  a 


102  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

that  cheered  and  illumined  my  heart,  I  mourn  that 
iheir  influence  cannot  extend  to  all  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  affliction. 

4*  Indeed,  Madam,"  said  poor  Charlotte,  in  a  tremu 
lous  accent,  "  I  am  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  Montraville 
placed  me  here  and  promised  to  defray  all  my  ex 
penses;  but  he  has  forgotten  his  promise,  he  has 
forsaken  me,  and  I  have  no  friend  who  has  either 
po\ver  or  will  to  relieve  me.  Let  me  hope,  as  you  see 
my  unhappy  situation,  your  charity — " 

"  Charity,"  cried  the  woman,  impatiently  interrupt 
ing  her,  "  charity,  indeed ;  why,  Mistress,  charity 
begins  at  home,  and  I  have  seven  children  at  home, 
honest,  lawful  children;  and  it  is  my  duty  to  keep 
them ;  and  do  you  think,  I  shall  give  away  my  property 
to  a  nasty  impudent  huzzy,  to  maintain  her  and  her 
bastard.  As  I  was  saying  to  my  husband  the  other 
day,  what  will  this  world  come  tol  Honest  women 
are  nothing  now-a-days,  while  the  harlotings  are  set 
up  for  fine  ladies,  and  look  upon  us  no  more  nor  the 
dirt  they  walk  upon  ;  but  let  me  tell  you,  my  fine 
spoken  Ma'am,  I  must  have  my  money ;  so  seeing  as 
how  you  can't  pay  it,  you  must  troop,  and  leave 
all  your  fine  gimcracks  and  fal  de  rals  behind  you,  I  don't 
ask  for  no  more  than  rny  right,  and  no  body  shall 
dare  for  to  go  for  to  hinder  me  from  it." 

"Oh  heavens!"  cried  Charlotte,  clasping  her  hands, 
"  what  will  become  of  me  !" 

"  Come  on  ye !"  retorted  the  unfeeling  wretch : 
"  why  g'°  to  the  barracks  and  work  for  a  morsel 
of  bread  ;  wash  and  mend  the  soldiers'  clothes,  and 
cook  their  victuals,  and  not  expect  to  live  in  idlenes- 
on  honest  people's  means.  Oh  I  wish  I  could  see  the 
day  when  all  such  cattle  were  obliged  to  work 
hard  and  eat  little :  it's  only  what  they  deserve." 

"  Father  of  mercy,"  cried  Charlotte,  "  I  acknow 
ledge  thy  correction  just :  but  prepare  me,  I  beseech 
thee,  for  the  portion  of  misery,  thou  may'st  please  to 
lay  before  me." 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  103 

"  Well,"  said  the  woman,  "  I  shall  go  and  tell  my 
nusband  as  how  you  can't  pay  ;  and  so  d'ye  see,  Ma'am, 
get  ready  to  be  packing  away  this  very  night,  for  you 
shall  not  stay  another  night  in  this  house,  though  I 
were  sure  you  would  lay  in  the  street." 

Charlotte  bowed  her  head  in  silence  ;  but  the  an 
guish  of  her  heart  was  too  great  to  permit  her  to 
articulate  a  single  word. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep — 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  and  fame, 

But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep  ? 

WHEN  Charlotte  was  left  to  herself,  she  began  to 
think  what  course  she  must  take,  or  to  whom  she 
could  apply,  to  prevent  her  perishing  for  want,  or 
perhaps  that  very  night  falling  a  victim  to  the  in 
clemency  of  the  season.  After  many  perplexed 
thoughts,  she  at  last  determined  to  set  out  for  New* 
York,  and  inquire  out  Mrs.  Crayton,  from  whom  she 
had  no  doubt  but  she  should  receive  immediate  relief, 
as  soon  as  her  distress  was  made  known ;  she  had  no 
sooner  formed  this  resolution,  then  she  resolved  im 
mediately  to  put  it  in  execution ;  she  therefore  wrote 
the  following  little  billet  to  Mrs.  Crayton,  thinking  if 
she  should  have  company  with  her,  it  would  be  better 
to  send  it  in  than  to  request  to  see  her. 

To  MRS.  CRAYTON. 

"  Madam, 

"  WHEN  we  left  our  native  land,  that  dear  happy 
land  which  contains  all  that  is  dear  to  the  wretched 


104  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

Charlotte,  our  prospects  were  the  ssuve  ;  we  both,  pardon 
me,  madam,  if  I  say,  we  both  too  easily  followed 
the  impulse  of  our  treacherous  hearts,  and  trusted  our 
happiness  on  a  tempestuous  ocean,  where  mine  has 
been  wrecked  and  lost  forever ;  you  have  been  more 
fortunate — you  are  united  to  a  man  of  honour  and 
humanity,  united  by  the  most  sacred  ties,  respected* 
esteemed,  admired,  and  surrounded  by  innumerable 
blessing's,  of  which  I  am  bereaved — enjoying  those 
pleasures  which  have  fled  my  bosom,  never  to  return ; 
alas  !  sorrow  and  deep  regret  have  taken  their  place. 
Behold  me,  madam,  a  poor  forsaken  wanderer,  who  has 
not  where  to  lay  her  weary  head,  wherewith"  to  supply 
the  wants  of  nature,  or  to  shield  her  from  the  in 
clemency  of  the  weather.  To  you  I  sue,  to  you  I  look; 
for  pity  and  relief.  I  ask  not  to  be  received  as  an 
intimate  or  equal ;  only  for  charity's  sweet  sake 
receive  me  into  your  hospitable  mansion,  allot  me 
the  meanest  apartment  in  it,  and  let  me  breathe  out 
my  soul  in  prayers  for  your  happiness ;  I  cannot,  I 
feel  I  cannot,  long  bear  up  under  the  accumulated 
woes  that  pour  in  upon  me  :  but  oh  !  my  dear  madam, 
for  the  love  of  heaven  suifer  me  not  to  expire  in  the 
street;  and  when  I  am  at  peace,  as  soon  I  shall  be, 
extend  your  compassion  to  my  helpless  offspring-, 
should  it  please  heaven  that  it  should  survive  it3 
unhappy  mother.  A  gleam  of  joy  breaks  in  on  my 
benighted  soul,  while  I  reflect  that  you  cannot,  will 
not,  refuse  your  protection  to  the  heart-broken  * 

CHARLOTTE." 

When  Charlotte  had  finished  this  letter,  late  as  it 
was  in  the  afternoon,  and  though  the  snow  began  to 
fall  very  fast,  she  tied  up  a  few  necessaries,  which  she 
had  prepared  against  her  expected  confinement;  and, 
terrified  lest  she  should  be  again  exposed  to  the  insults 
of  her  barbarous  landlady,  more  dreadful  to  her  wound 
ed  spirit  than  either  storm  or  darkness,  and  set  forward 
for  New  York. 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  105 

It  may  be  asked  by  those  who,  in  a  work  of  this 
kind,  love  to  cavil  at  every  trifling  omission,  whether 
Charlotte  did  not  possess  any  valuable  of  which  she 
could  have  disposed,  and  by  that  means  have  supported 
herself  till  Mrs.  Beauchamp's  return,  when  she  would 
have  been  certain  of  receiving  every  attention  which 
compassion  and  friendship  could  dictate  ;  but  let  me  in- 
treat  these  wise  penetrating  gentlemen  to  reflect,  that 
when  Charlotte  left  England,  it  was  in  such  haste  that 
there  was  no  time  to  purchase  any  thing  more  than 
what  was  wanted  for  immediate  use  on  the  voyage ; 
and  after  her  arrival  at  New  York,  Montraville's 
affection  soon  began  to  decline,  so  that  her  whole 
wardrobe  consisted  only  of  necessaries ;  and  as  to 
the  baubles,  with  which  fond  lovers  often  load  their 
mistresses,  she  possessed  not  one,  except  a  plain  gold 
locket  of  small  value,  which  contained  a  lock  of  her 
mother's  hair,  and  which  the  greatest  extremity  of 
want  could  not  have  forced  her  to  part  with. 

I  hope,  sir,  your  prejudices  are  now  removed  in 
regard  to  the  probability  of  my  story  ]  Oh  they  are. 
Well,  then,  with  your  leave  I  wil)  proceed. 

The  distance  from  the  house  which  our  suffering 
heroine  occupied,  to  New  York,  was  not  very  great ; 
yet  the  snow  fell  so  fast,  and  the  cold  was  so  intense, 
that  being  unable  from  her  situation  to  walk  quick,  she 
found  herself  almost  sinking  with  cold  and  fatigue, 
before  she  reached  the  town;  her  garments,  which 
were  merely  suitable  to  the  summer  season,  being  ai? 
undress  robe  of  plain  white  muslin,  were  wet  through  ; 
and  a  thin  black  cloak  and  bonnet,  very  improper 
habiliments  for  such  a  climate,  but  poorly  defended  her 
from  the  cold.  In  this  situation  she  reached  the  city, 
and  inquired  of  a  foot  soldier  whom  she  met,  the  way 
to  Colonel  Crayton's. 

"  Bless  you,  my  sweet  lady,"  said  the  soldier,  with  a 
voice  and  look  of  compassion,  "  I  will  show  you  thft 
way  with  all  my  heart;  but  if  you  are  going  to  make  a 
petition  to  madam  Crayton,  it  is  all  to  no  purpose, 


106  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

I  assure  you :  if  you  please  I  will  conduct  you  to  Mr. 
Franklin's;  though  Miss  Julia  is  married  and  gone 
now,  yet  the  old  gentleman  is  very  good." 

"  Julia  Franklin,"  said  Charlotte :  "  is  she  not 
married  to  Montraville  1" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  soldier,  "  and  may  God  bless 
them ;  for  a  better  officer  never  lived,  he  is  so  good  to 
us  all  ;  and  as  to  Miss  Julia,  all  the  poor  folks  almost 
worship  her." 

"  Gracious  heaven,"  cried  Charlotte,  "  is  Montraville 
unjust  to  none  but  me  1" 

The  soldier  now  showed  her  Colonel  Crayton's  door, 
and  with  a  beating  heart  she  knocked  for  admission. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

SUBJECT    CONTINUED. 

WHEN  the  door  was  opened,  Charlotte  in  a  voice 
rendered  scarcely  articulate,  through  cold  and  the  ex 
treme  agitation  of  her  mind,  demanded  whether  Mrs. 
Crayton  was  at  home.  The  servant  hesitated ;  he 
knew  that  his  lady  was  engaged  at  a  game  of  picquet 
with  her  dear  Corydon,  nor  could  he  think  she  would 
like  to  be  disturbed  by  a  person  whose  appearance 
spoke  her  of  so  little  consequence  as  Charlotte  ;  yet 
there  was  something  in  her  countenance  that  rather 
interested  him  in  her  favor,  and  he  said  his  lady  was 
engaged ;  but  if  she  had  any  particular  message  he 
would  deliver  it. 

"  Take  up  this  letter,"  said  Charlotte  :  "  tell  her  the 
unhappy  writer  of  it  waits  in  her  hall  for  an  answer." 

The  tremulous  accent,  the  tearful  eye,  must  have 
moved  any  heart  not  composed  of  adamant.  The  man 
took  the  letter  from  the  poor  suppliant,  and  hastily  as 
cended  the  stair-case. 


CHAXLOTTE    TEMPLE.  107 

"A  letter,  Madam,"  said  he,  presenting  it  to  his 
lady:  "  an  immediate  answer  is  required." 

Mrs.  Crayton  glanced  her  eye  carelessly  over  the 
contents.  "  What  stuff  is  this  ]"  cried  she  haughtily  ; 
"have  not  I  told  you  a  thousand  times  that  I  would 
not  be  plagued, with  beggars  and  petitions  from  people 
one  knows  nothing  about  ?  Go  tell  the  woman  I  can't 
do  any  thing  in  it.  I'm  sorry,  but  one  can't  relieve 
every  ^body." 

The  servant  btfwed,  and  heavily  returned  with  this 
chiifing  message  to  Charlotte. 

"  Surely,"  said  she,  "  Mrs.  Crayton  has  not  read  my 
letter.  Go,  my  friend,  pray  go  back  to  her  ;  tell  her  it 
is  Charlotte  Temple  who  requests  beneath  her  hospita 
ble  roof  to  find  shelter  from  the  inclemency  of  the 
season." 

"  Prithee,  don't  plague  me,  man,"  cries  Mrs.  Crayton 
impatiently,  as  the  servant  advanced  something  in 
behalf  of  the  unhappy  girl.  "  I  tell  you  I  don't  know  her." 

"  Not  know  me,"  cried  Charlotte,  rushing  into  the 
room,  (for  she  had  followed  the  man  up  stairs,)  "  not 
know  the  injured  Charlotte  Temple,  who,  but  for  you, 
perhaps  might  still  have  been  innocent,  still  have  been 
happy  !  Oh,  La  Rue,  this  is  beyond  every  thing  I  could 
have  believed  possible." 

"  Upon  my  honor,  Miss,"  replied  the  unfeeling 
woman  with  the  utmost  effrontery,  "  this  is  a  most  un 
accountable  address :  it  is  beyond  my  comprehension. 
John,"  continued  she,  turning  to  the  servant,  "  the 
young  woman  is  certainly  out  of  her  senses :  do  pray 
take  her  away,  she  terrifies  me  to  death." 

"  Oh  God,"  cried  Charlotte,  clasping  her  hands  in  an 
agony,  "  this  is  too  much ;  what  will  become  of  me  1 
but  I  will  not  leave  you,  they  shall  not  tear  me  from 
you ;  here  on  my  knees  I  conjure  you  to  save  me  frora 
perishing  in  the  streets :  if  you  really  have  forgotten 
me,  oh  for  charity's  sweet  sake  this  night  let  me  be 
sheltered  from  the  winter's  piercing  cold." 

The  kneeling  figure   of  Charlotte  in  her  affecting 


108  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

situation  might  have  moved  the  heart  of  a  stoic 
to  compassion :  but  Mrs.  Crayton  remained  inflexible. 
In  vain  did  Charlotte  recount  the  time  they  had  known 
each  other  at  Chichester,  in  vain  mention  their  bomg 
in  the  same  ship,  in  vain  were  the  names  of  Montra- 
ville  and  Belcour  mentioned.  Crayton  could  only  say 
she  was  sorry  for  her  imprudence,  but  could  not  think 
of  having  her  own  reputation  endangered  by  en 
couraging  a  woman  of  that  kind  in  her  own  house ; 
besides  she  did  not  know  what  trouble  and  expense  she 
might  bring  upon  her  husband,  by  giving  shelter  to  a 
woman  in  her  situation. 

"  I  can  at  least  die  here,"  said  Charlotte.  "  I  feel  I 
cannot  long  survive  this  dreadful  conflict — Father  of 
mercy,  here  let  me  finish  my  existence."  Her  agoniz 
ing  sensations  overpowered  her,  and  she  fell  senseless 
on  the  floor. 

"  Take  her  away,"  said  Mrs.  Crayton  ;  "  she  will 
really  frighten  me  into  histerics ;  take  her  away,  I 
Bay  this  instant." 

"  And  where  must  I  take  the  poor  creature  ?"  said 
the  servant  with  a  voice  and  look  of  compassion. 

"  Any  where,"  cried  she  hastily,  "  only  don't  let  me 
ever  see  her  again.  I  declare  she  has  flurried  me  so, 
I  shan't  be  myself  again  this  fortnight." 

John,  assisted  by  his  fellow  servant,  raised  and 
carried  her  down  stairs.  "  Poor  soul,"  said  he,  "  you 
shall  not  lie  in  the  street  this  night.  I  have  a  bed  and 
a  poor  little  hovel,  where  my  wife  and  her  little  ones 
rest  them;  but  they  shall  watch  to  night  and  you  shall 
be  sheltered  from  danger."  They  placed  her  in  a 
chair ;  and  the  benevolent  man,  assisted  by  one  of  his 
comrades,  carried  her  to  the  place  where  his  wife  and 
children  lived.  A  surgeon  was  sent  for;  he  bled  her, 
ehe  gave  signs  of  returning  life,  and  before  the  dawn, 
gave  birth  to  a  female  infant.  After  this  event,  she 
lay  for  some  hours  in  a  kind  of  stupor ;  and  if  at  any 
time  she  spoke,  it  was  with  a  quickness  and  inco- 
kerence  that  plainly  evinced  the  deprivation  of  reason 


, 


CHARLOTTE  TEMPLE  109 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

REASONS   WHY   AND   WHEREFORE. 


THE  reader  of  sensibility  may  perhaps  be  astonished 
to  find  Mrs.  Crayton  could  so  positively  deny  any 
knowledge  of  Charlotte;  it  is  therefore  but  just  that 
her  conduct  should  in  some  measure  be  accounted  for. 
She  had  ever  been  fully  sensible  of  the  superiority  of 
r  Charlotte's  sense  and  virtue ;  she  was  conscious  that 
she  would  never  have  swerved  from  rectitude,  had  it 
not  been  for  her  bad  precepts  and  worse  example. 
These  were  things  as  yet  unknown  to  her  husband ; 
and  she  wished  not  to  have  that  part  of  her  conduct 
exposed  to  him,  as  she  had  great  reason  to  fear  she  had 
already  lost  considerable  part  of  that  power  she  once 
maintained  over  him.  She  trembled  while  Charlotte 
was  in  the  house,  lest  the  Colofcel  should  return ;  she 
perfectly  well  remembered  how  much  he  seemed 
interested  in  her  favor,  while  on  their  passage  from 
England,  and  made  no  doubt,  but  should  he  see  her  in 
her  present  distress,  he  would  offer  her  an  asylum,  and 
protect  her  to  the  utmost  of  his  power.  In  that  case 
she  feared  the  unguarded  nature  of  Charlotte  might  dis 
cover  to  the  Colonel  the  part  she  had  taken  in  the  un 
happy  girl's  elopement ;  and  she  well  knew  the  con 
trast  between  her  own  and  Charlotte's  conduct  would 
make  the  former  appear  in  no  very  respectable  light. 
Had  she  reflected  properly,  she  would  have  afforded 
the  poor  girl  protection  ;  and  by  enjoining  her  silence, 
ensured  it  by  acts  of  repeated  kindness ;  but  vice  in 
general  blinds  its  votaries,  and  they  discover  their  real 
characters  to  the  world,  when  they  are  the  most  studi 
ous  to  preserve  appearances. 

Just  so  it  happened  with  Mrs.  Crayton  :  her  servants 
made  no  scruple  of  mentioning  the  cruel  conduct  of 
their  lady  to  a  poor  distressed  lunatic  who  claimed  her 
protection;  every  one  joined  in  reprobating  her 


110  CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE. 

inhumanity ;  nay,  even  Corydon  thought  she  might  at 
least  have  ordered  her  to  be  taken  care  of,  but  he  dare 
not  even  hint  it  to  her,  for  he  lived  but  in  her  smilea, 
and  drew  from  her  lavish  fondness  large  sums  to 
support  an  extravagance  to  which  the  state  of  his  own 
finances  was  very  inadequate ;  it  cannot  therefore 
be  supposed  that  he  wished  Mrs.  Crayton  to  be  very 
liberal  in  her  bounty  to  the  afflicted  suppliant;  yet 
vice  had  not  so  entirely  seared  over  his  heart,  but  the 
sorrows  of  Charlotte  could  find  a  vulnerable  part. 

Charlotte  had  now  been  three  days  with  her  humane 
preservers,  but  she  was  totally  insensible  of  every 
thing :  she  raved  incessantly  for  Montraville  and  her 
father :  she  was  not  conscious  of  being  a  mother,  nor 
took  the  least  notice  of  her  child  except  to  ask  whose 
it  was,  and  why  it  was  not  carried  to  its  parents. 

**  Oh,"  said  she  one  day,  starting  up  on  hearing  the 
infant  cry,  "  why  will  you  keep  that  child  here!  I  am 
sure  you  would  not,  if  you  knew  how  hard  it  was  for  a 
mother  to  be  parted  from  her  infant :  it  is  like  tearing     I 
the   cords   of  life  asunder.     Oh !    could   you   see   the    . 
horrid  sight  which  I  now  behold — there — there  stands 
my  dear  mother,  her  poor   bosom   bleeding   at   every  . 
vein,  her  gentle  affectionate  heart  torn  in  a  thousand 
pieces,  and   all   for  the   loss  of  a   ruined,   ungrateful, 
child.     Save  me — save  me — from  her  frown.     I  dare 
not — indeed  I  dare  not  speak  to  her." 

Such  were  the  dreadful  images  that  haunted  her 
distracted  mind,  and  nature  was  sinking  fast  under  the 
dreadful  malady  which  medicine  had  no  power  to 
remove.  The  surgeon  who  attended  her  was  a  humane 
man  ;  he  exerted  his  utmost  abilities  to  save  her ;  but 
he  saw  she  was  in  want  of  many  necessaries  and 
comforts,  which  the  poverty  of  her  hospitable  host 
rendered  him  unable  to  provide :  he  therefore  deter 
mined  to  make  her  situation  known  to  some  of  the 
officers'  ladies,  and  endeavor  to  make  a  collection  for 
her  relief. 

When  he  returned  home,  after  making  this  resolu- 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  Ill 

tion,  he  found  a  message  from  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  who 
had  just  arrived  from  Rhode-Island,  requesting  he 
would  call  and  see  one  of  her  children,  who  was  very 
unwell.  "  I  do  not  know,"  said  he,  as  he  was  hasten 
ing"  to  obey  the  summons,  "  I  do  not  know  a  woman  to 
whom  1  could  apply  with  more  hope  of  success  than 
Mrs.  Beauchamp.  I  will  endeavor  to  interest  her  in 
this  poor  girl's  behalf:  she  wants  the  soothing  balm  of 
friendly  consolation :  we  may  perhaps  save  her ;  we 
will  try  at  least." 

"  And  where  is  she,"  cried  Mrs.  Beauchamp,  when 
he  had  prescribed  something  for  the  child,  and  told  his 
pathetic  tale,  "  where  is  she,  sir  1  we  will  go  to  her 
immediately.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  be  deaf  to 
the  calls  of  humanity.  Come,  we  will  go  this  instant." 
Then  seizing  the  doctor's  arm,  they  sought  the  habita 
tion  that  contained  the  dying  Charlotte. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

r>-4 

WHICH   PEOPLE   VOID    OF    FEELING   NEED    NOT    READ. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Beauchamp  entered  the  apartment  of 
the  poor  sufferer,  she  started  back  with  horror. — On  a 
wretched  bed  without  hangings,  and  poorly  supplied 
with  covering,  lay  the  emaciated  figure  of  what  still 
retained  the  semblance  of  a  lovely  woman,  though  sick 
ness  had  so  altered  her  features,  that  Mrs.  Beauchamp 
had  not  the  least  recollection  of  her  person.  In  one 
corner  of  the  room  stood  a  woman  washing,  and 
shivering  over  a  small  fire,  two  healthy  but  half  naked 
children  :  the  infant  was  asleep  beside  its  mother,  and, 
on  a  chair  by  the  bed-side,  stood  a  porrenger  and 
a  wooden  spoon,  containing  a  little  gruel,  and  a  tea 
cup  with  about  two  spoonsful  of  wine  in  it. — Mrs. 


112  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

Beauc-hamp  had  never  before  beheld  such  a  scene  of 
poverty ;  she  shuddered  involuntarily,  and  exclaiming 
— "heaven  preserve  us!"  leaned  on  the  back  of  a  chair, 
ready  to  sink  to  the  earth.  The  doctor  repented 
having1  so  precipitately  brought  her  into  this  affecting 
scene  ;  but  there  was  no  time  for  apologies — Charlotte 
caught  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  starting  almost  out 
of  bed,  exclaimed — "  Angel  of  peace  and  mercy,  art 
thou  come  to  deliver  me?  Oh,  I  know  you  are,  for 
whenever  you  was  near  me,  I  felt  eased  of  half  my 
sorrows ;  but  you  don't  know  rne,  nor  can  I,  with  all 
the  recollection  I  am  mistress  of,  remember  your  name 
just  now ;  but  I  know  that  benevolent  countenance, 
and  the  softness  of  that  voice,  which  has  so  often  com 
forted  the  wretched  Charlotte." 

Mrs.  Beauchamp  had,  during  the  time  Charlotte 
was  speaking,  seated  herself  on  the  bed,  and  taken 
one  of  her  hands  :  she  looked  at  her  attentively,  and  at 
the  name  of  Charlotte  she  perfectly  conceived  the 
whole  shocking  affair.  A  faint  sickness  came  over 
her.  "  Gracious  heaven,"  said  she,  "  is  this  possible  V 
and  bursting  into  tears,  she  reclined  the  burning  head 
of  Charlotte  on  her  own  bosom ;  and  folding  her  arms 
about  her,  wept  over  her  in  silence. — "Oh,"  said 
Charlotte,  "  you  are  very  good  to  weep  thus  for  me :  it 
is  a  long  time  since  I  shed  a  tear  for  myself:  my  head 
and  heart  are  both  on  fire;  but  these  tears  of  yours 
seem  to  cool  and  refresh  me. — Oh  now  I  remember 
you  said  you  would  send  a  letter  to  my  poor  father ;  do 
you  think  he  ever  received  if?  or  perhaps  you  have 
brought  me  an  answer :  why  don't  you  speak,  Madam  ? 
Does  he  say  I  may  go  home  1  Well,  he  is  very  good ;  I 
shall  soon  be  ready." 

She  then  made  an  effort  to  get  out  of  bed  ;  but  being 
prevented,  her  phrenzy  again  returned,  and  she  raved 
with  the  greatest  wildness  and  incoherence. — Mrs. 
Beauchamp  finding  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  be  re 
moved,  contented  herself  with  ordering  the  apartment 
to  be  made  more  comfortable,  and  procuring  a  proper 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  113 

nurse  for  both  mother  and  child ;  and  having  learnt  the 
particulars  of  Charlotte's  fruitless  application  to  Mrs. 
Crayton  from  honest  John,  she  amply  rewarded  him  for 
his  benevolence,  and  returned  home  with  a  heart 
oppressed  with  many  painful  sensations,  but  yet 
rendered  easy  by  the  reflection  that  she  had  performed 
her  duty,  towards  a  distressed  fellow  creature. 

Early  the  next  morning  she  again  visited  Charlotte, 
and  found  her  tolerably  composed :  she  called  her  by 
name,  thanked  her  for  her  goodness,  and  when  her 
child  was  brought  to  her,  pressed  it  in  her  arms,  wept 
over  it,  and  called  it  the  offspring  of  disobedience. 
Mrs.  Beauchamp  was  delighted  to  see  her  so  much 
amended,  and  began  to  hope  she  might  recover,  and  in 
spite  of  her  former  errors,  become  a  useful  and 
respectable  member  of  society  ;  but  the  arrival  of  the 
doctor  put  an  end  to  these  delusive  hopes  ;  he  said 
nature  was  making  her  last  effort,  and  a  few  hours 
would  most  probably  consign  the  unhappy  girl  to  her 
kindred  dust. 

Being  asked  how  she  found  herself,  she  replied, 
"  Why  better,  much  better,  doctor.  I  hope  now  I  have 
but  little  more  to  suffer.  I  had  last  night  a  few  hours 
sleep,  and  when  I  awoke,  recovered  the  full  power  of 
recollection.  I  am  quite  sensible  of  my  weakness ;  I 
v  '  feel  I  have  but  little  longer  to  combat  with  the  shafts 
•of  affliction.  I  have  an  humble  confidence  in  the 
mercy  of  him  who  died  to  save  the  world,  and  trust 
that  my  sufferings  in  this  state  of  mortality,  joined  to 
my  unfeigned  repentance,  through  his  mercy,  have 
blotted  my  offences  from  the  sight  of  my  offended 
Maker.  I  have  but  one  care — my  poor  infant !  Father 
of  mercy,"  continued  she,  raising  her  eyes,  "  of  thy 
infinite  goodness,  grant  that  the  sins  of  the  parent  be 
not  visited  on  the  unoffending-  child.  May  those  who 
taught  me  to  despise  thy  laws  be  forgiven ;  lay  not  my 
oiFences  to  their  charge,  I  beseech  thee;  and  oh ! 
shower  the  choicest  of  thy  blessings  on  those  whost 

10 


114  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

pity  has  soothed  the  afflicted  heart,  and  made  easy  even 
the  bed  of  pain  and  sickness." 

She  was  exhausted  by  this  fervent  address  to  the 
throne  of  mercy,  and  though  her  lips  still  moved,  her 
voice  became  inarticulate  ;  she  lay  for  some  time  as  it 
were  in  a  doze,  and  then  recovering,  faintly  pressed 
Mrs.  Beauchamp's  hand,  and  requested  that  a  clergy 
man  might  be  sent  for. 

On  his  arrival,  she  joined  fervently  in  the  pious 
office,  frequently  mentioniong  her  ingratitude  to  her 
parents  as  what  lay  most  heavy  at  her  heart. — When 
she  had  performed  the  last  solemn  duty,  and  was  pre 
paring  to  lie  down,  a  little  bustle  outside  the  door 
occasioned  Mrs.  Beauchamp  to  open  it,  and  inquire  the 
cause.  A  man  in  appearance  about  forty,  presented 
himself,  and  asked  for  Mrs.  Beauchamp. — "  That 
is  my  name,  sir,"  said  she. — "  Oh,  then,  my  dear 
madam,"  cried  he,  "  tell  me  where  I  may  find  my  poor 
ruined,  but  repentant  child."  Mrs.  Beauchamp  was 
surprised  and  much  affected  ;  she  knew  not  what  to 
say ;  she  foresaw  the  agony  this  interview  would 
occasion  Mr.  Temple,  who  had  just  arrived  in  search 
of  his  Charlotte,  and  yet  was  sensible  that  the  pardon 
and  blessing  of  the  father  would  soften  even  the 
agonies  of  death  to  the  daughter.  She  hesitated. 
"  Tell  me,  madam,"  cried  he,  wildly,  "  tell  me,  I 
beseech  thee,  does  she  live  1  shall  I  see  my  darling 
once  a^ain  1  Perhaps  she  is  in  this  house.  Lead,  lead 
me  to  her,  that  I  may  bless  her,  and  then  lie  down  and 
die." 

The  ardent  manner  in  which  he  uttered  these  words 
occasioned  hirn  to  raise  his  voice.  It  caught  the  eai  , 
of  Charlotte  :  she  knew  the  beloved  sound  ;  and  uttering 
a  loud  shriek,  she  sprang  forward  as  Mr.r'Tempia 
entered  the  room.  "  My  adored  father !"  "  My  long 
lost  child  !"  Nature  could  support  no  more,  and  they 
both  sunk  lifeless  into  the  arms  of  the  attendants. 

Charlotte  was  again  put  into  bed,  and  a  few 
moments  restored  Mr.  Temple :  but  to  describe  the 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  115 

agony  of  his  sufferings  is  past  the  power  of  any  one. — 
Though  we  may  readily  conceive,  we  cannot  delineate 
the  dreadful  scene.  Every  eye  gave  testimony  of  what 
each  heart  felt — but  all  were  silent. 

When  Charlotte  recovered,  she  found  herself  sup 
ported  in  her  father's  arms.  She  cast  upon  him  a  most 
expressive  look,  but  was  unable  to  speak.  A  reviving 
cordial  was  administered. — She  then  asked  in  a  low 
voice  for  her  child:  it  was  brought  to  her :  she  put  it  in 
her  father's  arms :  "  Protect  her,  (said  she)  and  bless 
your  dying — " 

Unable  to  finish  the  sentence,  she  sunk  back  on  her 
pillow  ;  her  countenance  was  serenely  composed  ;  she 
regarded  her  father  as  he  pressed  the  infant  to  his 
breast  with  a  steadfast  look ;  a  sudden  beam  of  joy 
passed  across  her  languid  features,  she  ra^ed  her  eyes 
to  heaven — and  then  closed  them  forever. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

RETRIBUTION. 

IN  the  mean  time,  Montraville  having  received  orders 
to  return  to  New  York,  arrived,  and  having  still  some 
remains  of  compassionate  tenderness  for  the  woman 
whom  he  regarded  as  brought  to  shame  by  himself,  he 
went  in  search  of  Belcour,  to  inquire  whether  she  was 
safe,  and  whether  the  child  lived.  He  found  him 
immersed  in  dissipation,  and  could  gain  no  other 
intelligence  than  that  Charlotte  had  left  him,  and  that 
he  knew  not  what  had  become  of  her. 

"  I  cannot  believe  it  possible,"  said  Montraville, 
"that  a  mind  once  so  pure  as  Charlotte  Temple's 
should  so  suddenly  become  the  mansion  of  vice.  Be 
ware,  Belcour,"  continued  he,  "  beware,  if  you  have 


116  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

dared  to  behave  unjustly  or  dishonourably  to  that  poor 
girl,  your  life  shall  pay  the  forfeit :  I  will  avenge  her 
cause." 

He  immediately  went  into  the  country,  to  the  house 
where  he  had  left  Charlotte.  It  was  desolate.  After 
much  inquiry,  he  at  length  found  the  servant  girl  who 
had  lived  with  her.  From  her  he  learned  the  misery 
Charlotte  had  endured  from  the  complicated  evils  of 
illness,  poverty,  and  a  broken  heart,  and  that  she  had 
set  out  on  foot  for  New  York,  on  a  cold  winter's 
evening ;  but  she  could  inform  him  no  further. 

Tortured  almost  to  madness  by  this  shocking  ac 
count,  he  returned  to  the  city  ;  but  before  he  reached 
it,  the  evening  was  drawing  to  a  close.  In  entering 
the  town,  he  was  obliged  to  pass  several  little  huts,  the 
residence  of  poor  women,  who  supported  themselves  by 
washing  the  clothes  of  the  officers  and  soldiers.  It 
was  nearly  dark  :  he  heard  from  a  neighboring  steeple, 
a  solemn  toll  that  seemed  to  say,  some  poor  mortal  was 
going  to  her  last  mansion;  the  sound  struck  on  the 
heart  of  Montraville,  and  he  involuntarily  stopped, 
when,  from  one  of  the  houses  he  saw  the  appearance 
pf  a  funeral.  Almost  unknowing  what  he  did,  he  fol 
lowed  at  a  small  distance ;  and  as  they  let  the  coffin 
\nto  the  grave,  he  inquired  of  a  soldier  who  stood  by, 
and  had  just  wiped  off  a  tear  that  did  honor  to  his 
heart,  who  it  was  that  was  just  buried.  "  An  please 
your  honor,"  said  the  man,  "  'tis  a  poor  girl  that  was 
brought  from  her  friends  by  a  cruel  man,  who  left  her 
when  she  was  big  with  child,  and  married  another." 
Montraville  stood  motionless,  and  the  man  proceeded — 
"  I  met  her  myself  not  a  fortnight  since,  one  night  all 
wet  and  cold  in  the  street ;  she  went  to  Madam 
Crayton's,  but  she  would  not  take  her  in,  and  so  the 
poor  thing  went  raving  mad."  Montraville  could  bear 
no  more ;  he  struck  his  hands  against  his  forehead  with 
violence  :  and  exclaiming,  "  poor  murdered  Charlotte  !" 
ran  with  precipitation  towards  the  place  where  they 
were  heaping  the  earth  on  her  remains.  "  Hold,  hold, 


CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE.  117 

one  moment,"  said  he.  "  Close  not  the  grave  of  the  in-  / 
jured  Charlotte  Temple  till  I  have  taken  vengeance/ 
on  her  murderer." 

"  Rash  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Temple,  "  who  art 
thou  that  thus  disturbest  the  last  mournful  rites  of  the 
dead,  and  rudely  breakest  in  upon  the  grief  of  an 
afflicted  father!" 

"  If  thou  art  the  father  of  Charlotte  Temple,"  said 
he,  gazing  at  him  with  mingled  horror  and  amazement 
— "  if  thou  art  her  father — I  am  Montraville." — Then 
falling  on  his  knees,  he  continued — "  Here  is  my 
bosom.  I  bare  it  to  receive  the  stroke  I  merit.  Strike 
— strike  now,  and  save  me  from  the  misery  of  reflec 
tion." 

"  Alas  !"  said  Mr.  Temple,  "  if  thou  wert  the  seducer 
of  my  child,  thy  own  reflections  be  thy  punishment.  I 
wrest  not  the  power  from  the  hand  of  Omnipotence. 
Look  on  that  little  heap  of  earth,  there  hast  thou 
buried  the  only  joy  of  a  fond  father.  Look  at  it  often  ; 
arid  may  thy  heart  feel  such  true  sorrow  as  shall  merit 
the  mercy  of  heaven."  He  turned  from  him ;  and 
Montraville  starting  up  from  the  ground  where  he  had 
thrown  himself,  and  that  instant  remembering  the 
perfidy  of  Belcour,  flew  like  lightening  to  his  lodgings. 
Belcour  was  intoxicated  ;  Montraville  impetuous  :  they 
fought,  and  the  sword  of  the  latter  entered  the  heart  of 
his  adversary.  He  fell,  and  expired  almost  instantly. 
Montraville  had  received  a  slight  wound ;  and  over 
come  with  the  agitation  of  his  mind  and  loss  of  blood, 
was  carried  in  a  state  of  insensibility  to  his  distracted 
wife.  A  dangerous  illness  and  obstinate  delirium 
ensued,  during  which  he  raved  incessantly  for  Char 
lotte  :  but  a  strong  constitution,  and  the  tender  assidu 
ities  of  Julia,  in  time  overcame  the  disorder.  He 
recovered ;  but  to  the  end  of  his  life  was  subject  to 
severe  fits  of  melancholy,  and  while  he  remained  at 
New- York,  frequently  retired  to  the  church-yard, 
where  he  would  weep  over  the  grave,  and  regret  tne 
untimely  fate  of  the  lovely  Charlotte 


113  CHARLOTTE   TEMPLE. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

SHORTLY  after  the  interment  of  his  daughter,  Mr. 
Temple,  with  his  dear  little  charge  and  her  nurse,  set 
forward  for  England.  It  would  be  impossible  to  do 
justice  to  the  meeting  scene  between  him  and  hia 
Lucy,  and  her  aged  father.  Every  heart  of  sensibility 
can  easily  conceive  their  feelings.  After  the  first 
tumult  of  grief  was  subsided,  Mrs.  Trmple  gave  up  the 
chief  of  her  time  to  her  grand-child,  and  as  she  grew 
up  and  improved,  began  almost  to  fancy  she  again 
possessed  her  Charlotte. 

It  was  about  ten  years  after  these  painful  events, 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple,  having  buried  their  father, 
were  obliged  to  corne  to  London  on  particular  business, 
and  brought  the  little  Lucy  with  them.  They  had 
beem  walking  one  evening,  when  on  their  return  they 
found  a  poor  wretch  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  door. 
She  attempted  to  rise  as  they  approached  ;  but  from 
extreme  weakness  was  unable,  and  after  several  fruit 
less  efforts  fell  back  in  a  fit.  Mr.  Temple  was  not  one 
of  those  men  who  stand  to  consider  whether  by  assist 
ing  an  object  in  distress  they  shall  not  inconvenience 
themselves,  but  instigated  by  a  r/oble  feeling  heart, 
immediately  ordered  her  to  be  carried  into  the  house, 
and  proper  restoratives  applied.  She  soon  recovered  ; 
and  fixing  her  eyes  on  Mrs.  Temr.le,  cried — "  you  know 
not  what  you  do ;  you  know  not  whom  you  are  reliev 
ing,  or  you  would  curse  me  in  the  bitterness  of  your 
heart.  Come  not  near  me,  Madam ;  I  shall  contami 
nate  you.  I  am  the  viper  that  stung  your  peace.  I 
am  the  woman  that  tuiaed  the  poor  Charlotte  out  to 
perish  in  the  street.  Heayen  have  mercy  !  I  s^e  her 
now,"  continued  she,  looking  at  Lucy ;  "such  vxs  the 
fair  bud  of  innocence,  that  my  vile  arts  blasted  *re  it 
was  half  blown." 


CHARLOTTE    TEMPLE.  119 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple  entreated 
her  to  be  composed  and  take  some  refreshment. — She 
only  drank  half  a  glass  of  wine  ;  and  then  told  them 
that  she  had  boen  separated  from  her  husband  seven 
years,  the  chief  of  which  she  had  spent  in  not,  dissipa 
tion  and  vice,  till,  overtaken  by  poverty  and  sickness, 
'she  had  been  reduced  to  part  with  every  valuable,  and 
thought  only  of  ending  her  life  in  prison,  when  a 
benevolent  friend  paid  her  debts  and  released  her ;  but 
that  her  illness  increasing,  she  had  no  possible  means 
of  supporting  herself,  and  her  friends  were  weary 
of  relieving  her.  "  I  have  fasted,"  said  she,  "  two 
days,  and  last  night  laid  my  aching  head  on  the  cold 
pavement;  indeed  it  was  but  just  that  I  should  experi 
ence  those  miseries  myself,  which  I  had  unfeelingly 
inflicted  on  others." 

Greatly  as  Mr.  Temple  had  reason  to  detest  Mrs. 
Crayton,  he  could  not  behold  her  in  this  distress  wi|h- 
out  some  emotions  of  pity.  He  gave  her  shelter  that 
night  beneath  his  hospitable  roof,  and  the  next  day  got 
her  admission  into  an  hospital ;  where  having  lingered 
a  few  weeks,  she  died,  a  striking  example,  that~vice, 
however  prosperous  in  the  beginning,  in  the  end  leada 
only  to  misery  and  shame. 


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